


Fumbles & Fairytales

by TerminallyIntroverted



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm used to fanfic.net, M/M, Rewrite, gonna be honest I don't understand this website
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminallyIntroverted/pseuds/TerminallyIntroverted
Summary: Alfred is a professional football player, and his life is a constant stream of fame, fortune, and luxury. But something is missing. When he comes across his old high school yearbook and remembers the deep friendship he had with an upperclassman named Arthur, he’s determined to find him, and he does – in a psychiatric hospital.This is a story I originally published on ff.net, and am now rewriting and finishing! There are significant changes in the beginning chapters compared to the original.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), Canada/Prussia (Hetalia), China/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fumbles & Fairytales](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/741522) by Terminally Introverted - Me. 



> Hey, guys! This is the first official rewritten chapter of Fumbles & Fairytales!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse what may very well be clunky formatting, I'm old and new to ao3!

Alfred was never the most organized. On the average day, he would lose his keys, his wallet, and on one occasion – okay, Tuesday – he managed to lose his entire laptop, only to find it in his kitchen pantry. His life consisted of half-empty soda cans on his nightstand and piles of abandoned socks in the living room, of hair gel where his toothpaste should be and glasses that always somehow teleported behind furniture. Mostly, he blamed it on time. Alfred was nothing if not a busy man.

But, it was the slow season for him now. Alfred had officially run out of excuses. Which led him to cleaning out his closet at 8:33 on a Saturday morning.

Alfred stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing the piles of boxes around him as if they had personally offended him. Most of them contained items he had not seen or even thought about in… months? Years? Certainly not since he bought the place. Some boxes were filled with clothes, others with sport trophies he had won before he could read. One was full of ties Alfred could swear on his life he’d never owned. Maybe he had allowed this to pile up for too long. Then again, he was almost never in this house… or this state, for that matter.

Damn the relator that sold him on this walk-in. Alfred liked it at first; it reminded him of that one book about Narnia. But in this moment, it felt like some kind of endless clutter-prison. Alfred picked up the box of mystery ties, hoisted it on his hip, and began to scale the shoe rack he’d been using as a latter. The box ended up being heavier than he expected. Since when were ties so heavy? And this shoe rack wasn’t exactly stable, and oh god the ground was a lot closer than it was a second ago-

Alfred landed on his back with a tremendous thud. The ties cascaded around him in a colorful burst, along with what was unknowingly packed beneath them – books. Maybe _that_ was what was so heavy. And just when he allowed himself to believe he had avoided it, one of them landed spectacularly on his face. A hard covered one that was probably better served as a brick.

Alfred groaned, shook the stars out of his eyes, and sat up. Finally, he was able to get a good look at what had assaulted him.

Sitting open-faced in his lap, glossy pages shining, was his high school yearbook.

“Huh,” he said to the empty space around him. The year on the cover was two thousand on the dot – his freshman year. It felt like a lifetime ago. Alfred was sure he’d lost this thing or left it in his childhood home. Anything but this, really.

Having decided having an organized closet wasn’t for him anyway, Alfred flipped through the pages. The first few pages were full of signatures. Silly messages in rainbow colors and varying sizes, crammed into every available space until they almost melded into each other. Some of them were old varsity teammates, Alfred noticed with a smile. He wondered how they were doing these days.

Some of the pages were faded and dull with age, but for the most part, it was a perfect time capsule. Alfred spent a good amount of time looking through the candid pictures filling the first half of the book. Teenagers in low-rise jeans and those ridiculous blonde highlights everyone had in the early 2000s, the sports and clubs spreads, stuffy professional shots of teachers he barely remembered. And finally, roughly half an hour later, the senior pictures.

Then, Alfred froze.

There were some things from high school that Alfred had chosen a long time ago to stop thinking about. Like the amount of times it had taken him to pass his driver’s test. After all, it was over and done with, no matter how big of a deal it felt like at the time. No sense in dwelling on things that upset him, Alfred figured.

He used this approach a few times. Sometimes, on things that were… more pressing, than others. For about a decade, right up until the very moment he opened his freshman yearbook to page 189, he thought he had forgotten about _this_ too. At the very least, he had conditioned himself to forget. Quite successfully. It had been years, nearly a decade, of constant activity and change. Alfred had no choice but to forget.

But now that he was staring at this picture, one that stuck out from the others like a flash of sun in a downpour of rain, he realized that had never truly been the case. Messy blonde hair, eyebrows the size of Texas, a permanent scowl… all of it leapt from the page and hit Alfred like a smack to the face. He lifted a hand and ran his finger over the printed letters.

_Arthur Kirkland._

All these years, and Alfred remembered perfectly.

Right from the start.

~*~

Alfred was beginning to wonder if this was not actually a high school, but a small town. He stood in the middle of a hallway that looked no different from the last five he had walked through, clutching a tattered map in his hand, and glancing uselessly to either side of him as if directions would be written on one of the walls. He wondered if he was even in the right wing. What was a ‘wing,’ anyway? Well, this really was nothing like Tennessee, at least that was for sure. Everything was just… bigger, in the city. And more confusing. Definitely more confusing.

Alfred heard a scoff from behind him.

“Must you stand in everyone’s way?” said an accent Alfred had only ever heard in movies.

Alfred whipped around, grinning madly. “I’ve never heard _that_ accent ‘round these parts!” he exclaimed. “You must be, like, British or somethin’!”

The boy raised his eyebrows – the first thing Alfred noticed was how massive they were – and blinked. “Acute observation,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grimace. “You have a bit of a twang yourself. Now, please, if you could step aside so I can pass through…”

“Twang? That’s a real funny word.”

The Brit mumbled an intangible response and stepped around Alfred. Alfred quickly remembered his situation and reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Hey, wait, could you help me out a second?” 

The Brit adjusted his hold on his books and sighed again. Judging by the bags under his eyes, it looked like he hadn’t slept in a year. Alfred would not be surprised. This boy certainly _looked_ like a tired old man – really, what kind of high school student wore a sweater vest? “I suppose,” he said. “What seems to be the issue? And please don’t take terribly long, I’m going to be late.”

“You sound a little uptight, fella. Calm down.” The boy balked at him. Ignoring it, Alfred lifted the crumbled map in his hand and smiled sheepishly. “Anyway, it seems I’m lost. Can you point me to the science wing thingy?”

“That’s on the other side the building.” The Brit narrowed his eyes. “Are you a transfer student? I don’t recall seeing you last year.”

“Well, I moved over here this summer, but I’m a freshman.”

“Oh.” The Brit creased his brow, looked Alfred up and down, then shook his head and met his gaze. He almost had to crane his neck to do so. “Right, then. Jolly good. Anyway, in order to get to the science department, all you have to do is walk down the hall, take a right, go down the second set of stairs, take a left…” Alfred tried to look attentive but the directions were already over his head. The Brit must have sensed that, somehow, because he trailed off with yet another sigh. “On second thought, it would probably be easier to walk you there.” 

“Fine with me!” Alfred extended his arm in a dramatic pointing gesture. “Lead the way, uh…” He trailed off, raised and eyebrow, and looked to the Brit pointedly.

“Arthur,” he said flatly, taking a step forward. “Alright, follow me-”

“The name’s Alfred,” said Alfred, quickening his pace to match Arthur’s hurried steps. “Alfred F. Jones, all the way from the great state of Tennessee.”

Arthur glanced briefly to the side, and then nodded once. “Well, that certainly explains that accent of yours.”

“Do I really have an accent? I never noticed. I bet people notice yours all the time, though!” Alfred trotted next to him, smiling excitedly. “Man, I can’t get over it, you sound like Dr. Who or Sherlock or something. Where are you from anyway?”

There was a pause. “London,” said Arthur finally, with a slightly dazed shake of the head. “Has anyone ever told you you talk quite a bit?”

Alfred shrugged. “Not really. Has anyone ever told you you don’t talk much?”

“Can’t say they have.” 

“Well, there you go.” Alfred rounded the corner behind Arthur, who led them down a narrow, crowded staircase. He felt like a salmon fighting its way upstream. “Ah man, we really aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto. Well, it was Tennessee for me, but still. Good movie. Anyway, there’s way more people up here in the city. It’s mighty confusing, I’ll tell you what.”

“Quite.” Arthur glared as clusters of teenagers shoved past him, or maybe that glare was simply perpetual. Alfred was beginning to think the latter. “Tennessee is a ways away. What brings you to New York?”

“It was my dad’s doin’, mostly. Something about more opportunity here in the big apple.” At that, Alfred’s grin finally fell. He really did miss the countryside. There was just something about the open fields, clear skies, small towns… he fought the urge to sigh and smiled again. After all, if he never moved to the city, chances are he never would have gotten to meet a real, live English person! “But ya know, I’m adjusting. I should be asking how you got here. Isn’t London, like, by Africa or something?”

“Not… quite.” Arthur cleared his throat and stared down the hall, as if he suddenly had no idea where he was going. “My family moved here for business a few years back.”

“Oh, neat! Hey, about London, is it true that y’all call elevators lifts?”

“Yes,” said Arthur shortly. Then, he stopped dead in his tracks. “We’re here.”

“Huh?” Alfred looked around, remembered what they had been doing in the first place, and stopped himself. He was surprised when he felt slightly disappointed. “Right, the science wing. Thank you much. I’m sure I can find my room from here.”

“I would hope.” The bell rang, and Arthur groaned. “Bullocks, I’m late. Goodbye, Alfred.”

“Hey, thanks again for gettin’ me here!” called Alfred as Arthur rushed off.

Arthur raised his hand in recognition, and Alfred could not help but watch as he walked away – messy blonde hair, stiff posture, sweater vest and all. He knew he was already late, but he could not help but call out, “I’ll be seeing you round, right?”

Alfred half-expected him to keep walking. Surprisingly, Arthur paused and looked over his shoulder. For a moment he only stared back at Alfred, seemingly conflicted, and finally nodded. “I suppose,” he mumbled.

It was not until then that Alfred noticed… he had the nicest green eyes. 

~*~

Another rouge cluster of ties spilled from the top shelf, and Alfred’s senses came flooding back. He tightened his grip on the page and traced the letters with his eyes again. All these years he had gone on without even thinking about this era in his life, and suddenly, overwhelmingly, it was all hitting him again.

He remembered the first time they met like it happened yesterday. On top of that, Alfred remembered almost everything that followed it, albeit it was only in pieces. It seemed that, even though there were thousands of people in that school, it was always Arthur that would lead Alfred to this room or that office, always Arthur that he would constantly run into and sit with during breaks. Arthur would always scowl and roll his eyes, always mumble some snippy remark… but he kept finding Alfred. And Alfred doubted, even now, that that was entirely coincidental.

Over the time they spent together in the hallways – and eventually, beyond them – Alfred had gotten to know Arthur pretty well. He knew he was three grades and two years above him. He knew he had three brothers, all of them scattered across the United Kingdom. He knew he drank too much tea to be healthy, had a crazy obsession with old poets, and, even though he would go to great lengths to deny it, quite enjoyed knitting. He knew there was a lot of compassion behind that hardened glare, when Arthur chose to let it show.

But of course, there were a few things he didn’t know. He never knew much about his family beyond their names, or exactly _why_ his brothers had so eagerly moved away from London. Above all, Alfred didn’t know why they lost contact. He didn’t even remember how it happened. That, he had managed to suppress beyond recognition. Nearly ten years, and all Alfred had was a set of fragmented memories, about a million questions, and a book.

Still dazed, Alfred flipped to the back pages. He searched the multicolored array of yet more signatures, promises to hang out over the summer, overblown compliments and declarations of close friendships from people he did not even remember knowing, and finally, like a diamond in the rough, an impossibly neat note written in plain black.

_Alfred,_

_Meeting you was an… interesting experience, to say the least. Regardless, I’m thankful that it happened. You’ve given me a great last year, not to mention a great friendship. Good luck with the rest of high school. I’ll be seeing you._

_-Arthur_

_So much for that,_ thought Alfred, suddenly rather bitter at a decade-old conflict. It was weird how fresh that wound felt.

In trying to remember why they stopped talking, Alfred realized he was fairly certain there had never been a reason at all. Arthur had all but fallen out of existence, slipping through his fingers like sand without so much as an email. _That_ was why it had been so easy to forget – how was Alfred supposed to fight for someone who had erased his own existence?

By the middle of Alfred’s sophomore year, he had convinced himself he was over Arthur. He had about a million new friends by then. He had made the football team with flying colors, girls were constantly after him, and his life was a busy one. That drip never stopped. Now, Alfred had a career, one that sent him traveling all over creation and left him with thousands if not millions of fans. But, despite all of that, here he was thinking of Arthur again, with such fondness it as if they had never drifted apart. And that must mean something.

A sudden rush of adrenaline caused Alfred to slam the yearbook closed. He clambered to his feet, nearly hit his head on the shelf, and just about lost his balance. By the time Alfred regained his footing, he had made a decision. A decade was enough. All these years, all these questions, and Alfred was beyond ready to get some answers. He was not a confused teenager anymore. He had power; he had determination. Leaving the mess of clutter in his wake, he ran to his computer. There was only one thought left in his head.

Alfred was going to find Arthur Kirkland if it was the very last thing he did.

.

The Internet, Alfred decided after about three hours, was not as useful as people claimed it was.

Alfred removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, the blue glow of the screen having left them stinging and tired. He had known Arthur wasn’t much for technology – in fact, Alfred distinctly remembered him once blaming E-Readers for what he called ‘the downfall of the literary world’ _–_ but he could hardly believe there wasn’t a trace of him _somewhere._ It really was as if he had dropped off the face of the planet.

Tired, frustrated, and slightly disheartened, Alfred closed out of the browser and rested his head in his arms. Barely a second later, his phone rang.

“What’s up?” answered Alfred, hoping he didn’t sound as dejected as he felt.

“Alfred, where are you? I thought we were going to go out for dinner.”

“Hey, Mattie bro!” Alfred sat up, suddenly aware there were things going on beyond this sudden fixation. He checked the tiny digital clock in the corner of his screen, realized it was after six pm, and silently cursed himself. Damn. He was supposed to be at Matthew’s place an hour ago. He was only in town so often, after all. He usually spent every moment he could with his brother. “Oh, crap, was that today? Sorry. I got all wrapped up in something.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. Do you still want to go out? There’s this nice little barbeque place that just opened, and-”

“Hold up,” said Alfred, interrupting. For once he could not care less about food. “Matt, remember back when we were in high school?”

“Um, I would hope I remember.”

“Okay, but like, remember that one dude I always hung out with?” Alfred paused, for some reason unwilling to actually say his name. If Matthew didn’t know anything, maybe didn’t even remember he existed at all, then he was truly stuck. He was met with silence. “You know… British, big eyebrows, stuffy as hell?”

More silence.

Alfred swallowed dryly. “Arthur Kirkland?”

Alfred could hear Matthew breathing on the other line. He waited for the torturous silence to end, picking at the fabric of his jeans, listening to the summer wind blow through the trees, fighting not the hold his breath. Nothing.

“Matt, come on! Are you alive over there?”

Matthew quickly cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said. He sounded suddenly out of breath, in a hurry. “You know what, Al, I think we should skip dinner. Can I come over?”

“Whatever floats your boat, man,” said Alfred, confused. “Did something happen, or-”

“I’ll be right over.”

The line went dead. Alfred sat, dumbfounded, with the dial tone screeching in his ear for what felt like a very long time. Then he set down the phone and reopened the browser.

As promised, the doorbell rang less than twenty minutes later. Alfred stood from his desk and walked out of the office, past the door that led to the pool, down the hall, and finally to the open entryway. His footsteps echoed against the white-marble floors and white-painted walls; the crystal chandelier sparkled in the June sun. Alfred ignored all of it, ran to the door, and threw it open. He was speaking before Matthew had a chance to even step inside.

“Dude!” cried Alfred as Matthew kicked off his shoes. He was still dressed for work, in slacks and a flannel shirt. Alfred could never convince him they didn’t go together. But his brother’s fashion choices were hardly his priority. “Mattie, bro, this is getting ridiculous. I looked _everywhere_ for that British loser. Everywhere online, at least. I checked Facebook, Twitter, YouTube… I even checked MySpace, dude! _MYSPACE!”_

“Nice to see you too, Alfred.” Matthew shut the door behind him and rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it’s been a month since I’ve seen you or anything.”

Alfred blinked, his tone softening. “Oh, sorry. Uh, how are you doing? Are you still running the nuthouse?”

“Don’t call it that,” Matthew scolded. He was a therapist in an inpatient psychiatric hospital, and he never took well to terms like ‘nuthouse’ or ‘loony-bin,’ as Alfred often dubbed it. Except this time, his protests were half-hearted. Matthew wouldn’t even look him in the eye. “But yes, I’ve been doing fine. And the hospital is…um… fine, too.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I mean, of course, I just…” Matthew sighed, as if resigning to something. “Can we sit down somewhere?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “You’re freaking me out, dude.” Matthew said nothing, did not even look up. He only kept fussing with his sleeve. Confused, and honestly a little nervous, Alfred led Matthew to the kitchen and sat with him at the granite island.

“So, how are things?” asked Matthew after a moment. “How’s football? You haven’t hurt yourself lately, right? I don’t think you can handle another concussion.”

Alfred answered in rapid fire. “Everything is fine, the Patriots did well last season, and no, I haven’t hurt myself, because I’m indestructible,” he deadpanned. “Now, can you _please_ tell me why you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Matthew sighed, visibly deflating. He lowered his gaze to the countertop, his fingers tracing the patterns in the stone, his eyes darkening behind his glasses. Alfred’s heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest. “You said you wanted to try and find your friend again, right? Arthur?”

“Yeah, I did. Why? You got some info?”

There was pause. Matthew seemed to choose his words carefully. “Well, kind of.”

“Alright, we’re getting somewhere!” Alfred grinned. “What’s up? Did he friend you on some weird hipster website I don’t know about?”

Another pause. “…No.” Matthew looked up, sighed, and delivered the words evenly. “I know where Arthur is.” 

A sudden, overwhelming burst of energy erupted in Alfred’s veins. “What? Really? How? Actually, it doesn’t matter, just spill!”

“Actually, Alfred, it does matter.” Matthew removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. They were bloodshot, drooping. His hands were unsteady. He just looked so… tired, Alfred noticed uneasily. Matthew continued, “Look… Alfred. This was probably a long time coming. I just didn’t expect it today.”

Alfred wondered briefly if everyone in the world had gone insane. “What are you talking about?”

“I, well…” Matthew finally met his gaze. “I haven’t been completely honest with you lately.”

“What?” repeated Alfred. “Oh, my god, Matt, did you kill someone? Do you need help with the body? Don’t even worry bro, I’ve been on like, this _huge_ CSI kick, and…”

“What? Alfred, no. Calm down.”

Alfred leant back, maybe a little disappointed. “Just tell me, then.”

“Well, you obviously know where I work.” Matthew looked out the huge bay window in the next room, and for a second Alfred almost expected him to make a running jump out of it. But instead Matthew just sighed. A shadow cast briefly over his face – a cloud must have passed over the skylight. “Arthur is… under my care, Alfred. He checked in about two months ago.”

Alfred blinked. Briefly he wondered if that closet really was a portal and he was in a different, much weirder dimension. It would make just about as much sense as the rest of this conversation. For once he could not find anything to say.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Arthur doesn’t remember me, and I was sure you didn’t remember him, so I kept quiet,” Matthew continued. “There’s doctor-patient confidentiality to worry about, too.” 

“But you’re telling me now,” said Alfred, his mind spinning. “I don’t get it, Mattie. What would Artie be in the hospital for?”

“I don’t believe I can tell you that.” Suddenly, Matthew straightened up, crossed his legs, and looked at Alfred as if they had never met. “How are you feeling about all of this?”

Alfred was not impressed. He leaned against his arm and raised an eyebrow, his mouth pressed to a hard line. Matthew had done this before. Even before he was certified, Matthew had an annoying habit of going all therapist mode on him. Matthew probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I think you can,” said Alfred flatly, ignoring the question.

Matthew deflated, much as he had when Alfred held his toys above his head when they were younger. “Right now, the diagnosis is schizophrenia.”

Then, Alfred could not help it – he laughed. “What?” he asked, his voice loud and breathless. “Isn’t that when you hear voices and crap? I’m Arthur’s best friend, Mattie. I think I would now if the dude had a screw loose.”

“You _were_ Arthur’s best friend, Alfred. A lot can change in ten years.” Matthew glanced up towards the skylight, shaking his head once as if to clear it. “Look, I’ve already told you far too much. I can’t tell you the details of Arthur’s condition. It goes against my morality as a doctor. But I can tell you that Arthur is far, far different than you remember. He’s a completely different person. You probably wouldn’t even recognize him. I’m sorry.”

Alfred just shook his head. This was ridiculous. Arthur was still Arthur, wasn’t he? And the Arthur he knew wasn’t crazy. He was smart, sarcastic, sophisticated… _schizophrenic_ had no place in the description. “You bet your ass I’ll recognize him,” he said.

Matthew’s fact went blank. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to go see him,” said Alfred. He rose from his seat, planting his hands triumphantly on his hips. “And I’m going to do it tomorrow.”

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second official rewritten chapter!

Today was the type of day to roll the top down. Alfred drove through the familiar city streets with ease, sunglasses on, the warm wind in his hair and rolls of adrenaline tingling across his skin. A fast-tempoed rock song blasted from his speakers. He was speeding, more so than usual, but it was still not fast enough.

Alfred was not exactly sure what he wanted out of this. He hadn’t slept well the night before, turning that question over and over again. If anything, it was to give Arthur a piece of his mind, to ask why on earth he had ghosted him like it was nothing. Beyond that, though, he just didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling. Angry? Excited? Smug? Who knew? But Alfred quickly pushed the thoughts away. If it was like anything else in his life, it would work out just fine.

Alfred pulled into the parking lot twenty minutes later, leapt out of the car, and locked it with a click of key fob. He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and took in his surroundings, squinting into the sun. All these years, and he had never once visited Matthew at work. His red, white, and blue Porsche looked a bit strange in the sea of grey Toyotas and Hondas, but whatever. The place looked pretty normal.

As he strode through the monstrous parking lot to the even bigger building, Alfred could not help but feel a bothersome tangle of nerves settle in his stomach. It had, after all, been ten years. But that was okay, he told himself. It was better late than never.

And then there was… whatever Matthew told him last night. Alfred rolled his eyes and pushed through the front doors with an open palm. Arthur had always had a flair for the dramatic; a case of the sniffles practically left him bedbound. Whatever was ailing him, Alfred was sure he could snap him out of it. If he could score a winning touchdown, outrun the paparazzi, and make it to a charity benefit all in one day, surely he could cheer up an old friend who just so happened to get stuck in a place like this. Surely.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” said Alfred when he approached the front desk. He grinned at the man behind it, leaning easily against the counter. “Hope all is well. I’m here to visit someone, if you could tell me where to go.” 

“Which department?” he asked without looking up, his accent slightly German.

“The, uh, what was it? The psych something or another.” Alfred took the sunglasses from his head, held them to the light, the rubbed at a smudge on the edge of his shirt. 

“Oh…” He shook his head, looking a little dazed, but then just shook his throat and answered evenly. “Psychiatrics.”

“That’s the one!”

“Right,” said the man. He handed Alfred a form, something long and complicated that he skimmed. “Visiting hours end at 9 pm. We ask that you silence any devices, do not bring anything sharp, any illicit substances, or any of the items specifically listed in the third paragraph-”

“Alright, yeah, rad,” said Alfred hurriedly, scrawling his signature on the last line so largely it obscured the last few sentences. “Which way?”

The man looked at Alfred pointedly, his glasses sliding the bridge of his nose. He pressed his thin lips together. “Take the orange elevators to the third floor, take a left, and follow the signs.”

“Thanks, dude!” said Alfred almost before the man finished, already moving. “Take it easy!”

As the elevator dinged upward, Alfred flicked away a few notifications on his phone and practiced his speech. “Funny meeting you here,” he mumbled at the screen. The twitter bird whistled at him. Not witty enough, he decided. “College must have been rough,” he said. He smirked at his own joke. The elevator door opened, revealing a mostly white hallway. There was a large poster plastered on a far wall. It read _NO WAR STORIES_ in a heavy font. Alfred wondered what it meant. He looked down at his phone again.

“Long time no see,” he said, turning left. Can’t go wrong with a classic. Another Twitter notification. He placed his phone in his jeans pocket.

Walking down the hallway, Alfred studied the faded flower paintings hung on the ways. The frames were dusty. “Did you forget your email password?” he asked a particularly sad looking sunflower. “No worries. We all have a busy decade or two.”

And then, finally, he approached an archway that read _psychiatrics._

The longue, thankfully, does not immediately give Alfred any _One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest_ vibes. Really, he had not expected it to. The Arthur he knew would never be caught dead anyplace like that. In fact, Alfred could not see Arthur, or anyone else here. It was like the entire place was deserted.

For a moment, Alfred was almost certain Matthew was playing a trick on him.

“Hey, Artie! You here?” Alfred called into the emptiness. “Artie, Arthur, yoohoo! Remember me? Alfred F. Jones, high school hero?”

A small, airy response, in an all too familiar accent. “Huh?”

And that was when Alfred saw him. Clinging to the edge of the wall, pale-faced, looking into the room and staring right back at him, was Arthur. His eyes were just as bright and green as Alfred remembered.

A jolt of energy tore through Alfred’s body, his mind, until there was nothing left but blinding joy and excitement. He was teleported back to fifteen. “Arthur!” Alfred tore across the room and wrapped Arthur in a hug. “Dude, it’s been forever! How are you, buddy? You look great! What are you even doing here, huh?”

Alfred did not really expect Arthur to hug him back, knowing him. But he did not expect him to gasp as if he had been slapped, did not expect him writhe out of his hold, and certainly did not expect him to, without any of the sophistication Alfred would expect from him, stumble through a response. “What, what in the bloody, blasted… what? What are… why are you doing here?”

Alfred chuckled lightly and grinned. “Huh? Arthur, it’s me! Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“No!” said Arthur immediately, shaking his head almost like a dog trying to dry off. “ _Who_ sent you? Who _sent_ you? Who sent _you?”_

“Um… sent me?”

Arthur shook his head again. “Yes, quite, someone must have… must have… ran with the doors, coincidentally, as it always said before. Looking at me. Through that blasted window over the horizon.”

Alfred furrowed his brow at the odd mix of words, too confused to speak, an odd knot forming in his stomach. He looked into Arthur’s eyes then… really looked. They were the same green, but something was different.

“Shut up,” said Arthur, shattering the silence. “Shut up, bloody hell, just shut up!”

“I… didn’t say anything.” Alfred’s voice dipped to a near whisper. Everyone in the room was staring at them. He didn’t care. In fact he barely noticed, because his stomach was sinking, his hands were shaking, and he was really, really starting to believe he should listen to Matthew more often.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Matthew appeared around the corner barely a moment later. “Arthur,” he said, even gentler than he usually spoke. “Everything is fine. You aren’t in any danger.”

“Did you bring him here?” Arthur’s eyes flicked to either side, his hands wrapping around each other like dough being kneaded. “Did you bring him to… to what, spy on me and the lot?”

“No. No one is spying on you,” said Matthew. “I can handle this, Arthur. Everything is fine. Go back to your room and lie down, okay? Everything is fine.”

Alfred wanted to scream, at the very top of his lungs, that everything was not fine. It could not be fine, because someone had taken his friend, and replaced him with this… this _crazy person_. Alfred wanted to say all of that, but something was not allowing him to. All he could do was stare, frozen and confused, down at the familiar green eyes that were regarding him as a stranger. Looking at him now, Alfred could only _see_ a stranger.

The long moment finally passed, and Arthur mumbled something intelligible under his breath before retreating down the hall. He even walked differently. Alfred remembered the first time he had seen Arthur walk away, all perfect posture, poise, his head held high and his arms straight at his sides. Now, Arthur was slouching. His arms were crossed. Instead of a sweater vest, he was wearing longue pants and a t-shirt. A moment later, a door opened, and Arthur was gone. Alfred continued to stare.

Matthew took a moment to speak. He took a breath, then whispered. “Alfred…”

Alfred turned to face him. Suddenly, he was very cold. He crossed his arms, pulling his bomber jacket closer to his chest. A chill ran down his spine. “I… wow,” he said. What was there to say, really? He looked towards the wall, searching for a thermostat, maybe a fan. It was just so cold. “What happened to him?”

“Right now, the diagnosis is schizophrenia.”

Alfred listened to the word, repeated it back in his head. He thought it backwards and forwards, pictured how it was spelled, broke it into syllables. He crossed his arms tighter. Then, after a long moment of this, he nodded.

Matthew regarded Alfred evenly. “I don’t know how long he’s had symptoms, but this kind of thing usually doesn’t show up until later in life. I’m sorry, Al.”

At least he didn’t say ‘I told you so.’ At least he did not call Alfred a fool for coming here, for starting this search in the first place, for expecting to pick things up where they left off ten years ago. Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat, tried to piece a sentence together. “I didn’t expect… that.”

“I know.” Matthew reached out and rested his hand on Alfred’s arm. “I know, Alfred. I didn’t expect you to grasp the situation right away. I understand this must be extremely difficult to accept.”

“So…” Alfred cleared his throat and glanced down the hall. Still no sign of a fan. It was still freezing. “This is what he’s like now?”

“Well, yes and no. Arthur isn’t always as… incoherent, as you just heard. Seeing you was quite a shock, I’m sure, and the more agitated he gets, the more disorganized his thoughts and speech tends to be. His auditory hallucinations will usually pick up, too.”

Alfred tried to swallow, but his throat felt as dry as cotton. “Hallucinations?”

Matthew slowly nodded. “Yes, auditory and visual. It’s a common symptom.”

“Oh.” Alfred glanced towards the exit – he wanted to leave, his mind was begging him to leave, to get back into the June sun, but his feet were rooted to this very spot. “Does he hear little voices in his ear like in the movies, then?”

“Kind of. Mostly, he talks a lot about… unicorns.” Matthew broke off and shook his head, as if saying too much. “I’m not really at liberty to discuss this with you. If you want to know what Arthur is going through, I suggest you ask him.”

“Oh, sure. Um…will he…” Alfred closed his eyes briefly, rubbed the brown leather on his coat. Speaking felt like resigning, but there was nothing left to do. “Will he… get it? Like, is he going to understand me?”

“Oh God, Alfred, yes,” said Matthew immediately. “He might be ill, but he’s still a functioning human being. He’s not incapacitated. You just had a bad first impression.”

Alfred wanted to say his first impression of Arthur had been ten years ago, and it had been a great one, but he did not have the heart. Instead, he flashed his best photo-op smile. “He’ll come around,” he said. Alfred uncrossed his arms, forced away the cold, and reminded himself of his determination. He had gotten this far. No way was one little mishap going to keep him away. “I’ll stick around for awhile. When he’s rested up, send him outside, okay? Thanks!”

Alfred turned around before Matthew could respond, still grinning, and walked away. It was not until he made his way to a small, enclosed courtyard outside the ward that he let it fall. Alfred tilted his head back and allowed the sun to warm his face, his arms, his legs. He curled and uncurled his fingers, willing away the numbness. Soon, he was baking. Alfred pulled off his jacket and laid it beside him.

It would be fine, he told himself. He would be fine. Arthur would be fine. _They_ would be fine. Things always worked out in his favor, after all. Always. Alfred convinced himself of it, sat down on a bench, and waited.

~*~

Arthur hated these things. He hated them more than hot summer days, more than burning his food, more than anything, really. Arthur could not think of anything more unnecessary, crass, or downright insulting than high school pep rallies.

And yet here he was, schlepped into the gymnasium for what felt like the hundredth time in his life. Arthur grimaced as he climbed the rusty bleachers, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, wondering where the rest of the senior class was or what was the point of this, anyway. He glanced towards the doors and thought longingly about leaving. Yes, attendance was mandatory, but would anyone _really_ notice if he simply –

“Hey! English fella! Yoo-hoo!”

Startled, Arthur glanced about to see where voice was coming from. Before he had time to wonder why he allowed himself to answer to “English fella,” he saw a younger student waving furiously at him from a few seats away. He was blond, freckled, wearing a worn leather jacket and a pair of faded blue jeans. It took Arthur a moment to recognize the boy as the freshman he had guided to his classroom earlier that week. Alfred, he believed.

“Come sit with us!” called Alfred before Arthur could respond. He patted the seat next to him rapidly.

Arthur paused. He was supposed to sit with the rest of his year, wherever they disappeared off to, but he supposed none of that mattered anyway. “Why not,” he mumbled to himself over the onslaught of noise in the crowded gym. Arthur awkwardly side-stepped his way into Alfred’s row and sat beside him.

“I’ll tell ya, Artie, by the size of this school I half-expected to never see you again.” said Alfred. He smiled widely and pushed his glasses back up the brim of his nose. “I sure am glad I managed to run into you!”

“Artie?” said Arthur, a bit stunned. They’d exchanged maybe five sentences and Alfred was already on a nickname basis with him. He elected to ignore that. “Um, anyway. Yes. I suppose it is quite a big school.”

“You’re telling me. I swear I get lost dang near every day!”

Arthur could believe that. Judging by how bewildered Alfred looked when they first met, he couldn’t imagine the kid had much of a sense of direction. “It’s something you get used to,” he said.

“I sure hope so. Oh man, let me tell you, yesterday I was trying to find the nurse’s office, and –”

“Alfred?” said a small voice. “Who is this?”

It wasn’t until then that Arthur realized Alfred had someone sitting to the other side of him. He leaned forward and saw a boy that was very similar to Alfred in the face. He had the same light eyes, the same button nose and sharp, thin jaw. However, he had a head of untamed curls down to his shoulders, spots on his chin and cheeks, and thick, round glasses. He was wearing a red jumper that looked to be about three sizes too large and jeans that were too short. His boney ankles peaked out.

“Oh!” exclaimed Alfred. He threw his arm around the boy, who let out a tiny yelp. “Artie, this is my brother Matthew. Matthew, this is Arthur. He came to my rescue the other day.”

Arthur would hardly call it a rescue, but he elected to ignore that, too. “The pleasure is mine,” he said, extending a hand to Matthew. Matthew did not take it. Arthur let his hand drop.

“Mattie is a little shy,” said Alfred apologetically.

“Sure,” said Arthur, unsure how to respond to that. If first impression were anything to go by, it was strange how different Alfred was from his brother. Although, he and his own brother were hardly carbon copies. At that moment, a booming pop song erupted from the speakers, and Arthur cringed.

Alfred let out a riotous cheer, which made Arthur cringe even harder. Did everything in America have to be so damn loud? “I love this song!” screamed Alfred over the noise. It sounded no different than the last three they had played, but oh well. “Oh! Look! Cheerleaders!”

Arthur looked on as a troop of girls ran from the wings of the gymnasium to the main floor and launched into a rather complicated tumbling routine. “Huh,” he said. “Rather talented, aren’t they?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure. Cute uniforms, too.” Alfred stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a low whistle, and Arthur immediately shot him a dirty look.

“Contain yourself, for the love of Christ,” said Arthur scoldingly. He could barely see Matthew out of the corner of his eye, but he swore he saw him nod in some sort of agreement.

“No fun, neither of ya,” said Alfred, shaking his head.

Moments later, the cheerleaders finished their routine. Another faculty member Arthur scarcely remembered belted out another announcement, something about the next football season. Then, in a burst of confetti and yet another pop song, a line of young men in jerseys flooded the main gym floor. Their names were announced one by one as they rushed through the line of cheerleaders.

“There they are! Mattie, look!” said Alfred, slapping his brother on the knee. Matthew barely seemed to react. “Man, they look so neat.”

“Pardon?” said Arthur. “Are you talking about… the football team?”

“Well, yeah.” Alfred threaded his hands together, beaming, staring intently at the gym floor several flights of bleachers below them. “They’re like… the heroes around here, right? Gotta be.”

Arthur smirked, scoffed, his head lurching back in amusement. Four years of high school, and he’d never heard _that_ one before. Heroes… that was a little bit too much credit. “Hardly,” he said. “I mean, really. It’s just a bloody high school sports team.”

“But they’re like, the face of it all, right?” said Alfred, his eyes still glued to the gym floor. “That’s what it’s like in movies. The quarterback gets the lead cheerleader, everyone fawns over ‘em. That sort of thing.”

“That’s silly,” said Matthew, barely a whisper.

Arthur had to agree, but seeing the enchantment in Alfred’s eyes, he hadn’t the heart to say anything. He never really understood the hype over American football. However, he couldn’t deny the enormous weight it apparently had on the culture in this country. “Do you play?” he asked.

Alfred finally broke his stare and turned to Arthur, still beaming. His teeth were brilliantly straight and white, Arthur noticed. “You bet!” he said. “My dad has been teachin’ me since before I could walk, almost. Played all throughout middle school.”

Arthur nodded. “Very cool,” he said, a bit drier than he honestly intended. “You and your father must be close.”

“For sure,” said Alfred immediately. “He’s a little bit more focused on my grades these days, but…” he shook his head suddenly, kneading his hands together again. “Try-outs are coming up, I heard.”

“Are they?”

Alfred straightened, puffing out his chest. “Next week, yeah. I’ve been practicing for months.”

Arthur hummed in acknowledgment, unsure how to respond. It was strange, how someone he had just met spoke so openly to him. Must have been an American thing. Over the next half an hour, he and Alfred chatted about classes, about other students, and about any other random thought that seemed to cross Alfred’s mind. While the pep rally raged on in the background, Arthur learned that Alfred was doing quite dreadful in most of his classes, most notably English. Essays in particular confused him. Alfred also spoke for Matthew, explaining he was the academic of the two, and a member of the mathematics team. Confusingly, Matthew was actually Alfred’s half-brother and was born not in America, but in Canada. Matthew remained mostly silent during this exchange, occasionally humming in acknowledgment. Mostly, he picked at his sleeves or twisted one of his curls between his fingers. And Alfred just kept talking.

And then, after what somehow felt like the shortest pep rally Arthur had ever suffered through, they were being dismissed.

“Oh man, it’s already over,” said Alfred, pursing his lips in what looked like disappointment. Swarths of students began standing and shuffling out in all directions. “Well, Artie, it certainly was nice.”

“Arthur,” muttered Arthur, although he already knew it was fruitless. He stood, brushing his trousers. His back hurt. He twisted, groaned, and then turned to leave the gymnasium. “I’ll be seeing you, I suppose.”

“Hey, wait!” said Alfred loudly. “Do you think I can grab your number?”

“I… don’t have a cellular,” said Arthur.

“Well, that’s good, I don’t either. You got a home phone though, yeah?”

“Oh.” Arthur blinked, a little confused. “What would you ever need that for?”

“Geez, Artie, you’re breaking my heart, here. I thought we were friends!” Alfred laughed, beaming and oblivious as a stream of students impatiently pushed past him. Arthur tried to squeeze to the side of the aisle. “What if I want to chat?”

“Alfred, I feel like you’re scaring him,” said Matthew.

Arthur was inclined to agree, but whatever. If anything, he was just the slightest bit flattered. “Alright, alright, come off it,” he said. Then, he scribbled his number on a scrap of paper he has in his bag and handed it to Alfred.

“Sweet!” said Alfred, shoving the paper into his pocket. “Oh shoot. Mattie, we gotta catch the bus. Bye, Artie!” Grabbing Matthew by the oversized sleeve, Alfred practically jogged from the bleachers and bolted from the gymnasium doors.

Bewildered, Arthur trotted down the bleachers and headed the same way. Alfred was long gone by the time he reached the doors. What an odd one, he mused to himself as he exited the building and started his walk home. It was getting to be that time of year that the sun was setting by the time school let out, so he had to squint as he walked down the sidewalk. It was annoying. Really, was there a season more depressing than autumn?

Arthur reached his street roughly ten minutes later, the almost-set sun burning his eyes. As he rounded the corner into his block, Arthur caught sight of a red car. He paused. It was recognizably a new car, almost absurdly clean. Certainly not one he had ever seen here before. It seemed almost out of place in this part of the city. After a short moment, Arthur wondered what he was staring at the thing for, and went inside.

~*~

Alfred was stirred from his thoughts at the sound of footsteps, soft and nearly inaudible against the stone. He straightened his back and turned. Arthur was walking towards him, expression unreadable, eyes cast downward. He wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Alfred. You… stayed,” he said, now frozen in the middle of the courtyard.

“Yeah, of course.” Alfred felt his lips quiver as he grinned.

“Dr. Williams sent me out here.”

Alfred chuckled, but it sounded wrong in the small, silent, deserted space. “Yeah, thought so. Mattie is my brother, you know. Did you forget that?” Arthur did not respond, and Alfred spoke only for the sake of speaking. “I had to bug the crap out of him to get the address to this place, you know. He’s probably less than happy with me right now.”

“Thought he looked a tad familiar…” Arthur broke off with a slight shake of the head. “My apologies for earlier,” he said, so quietly the wind nearly drowned him out.

Alfred flipped his hand dismissively, even as memory shot through his mind and strange, unfamiliar guilt struck his heart. “It’s cool. Sorry I kind of snuck up on you like that. I wanted to surprise you.”

Arthur did not move. “You succeeded.”

“You look a little uncomfortable just standing there. Why don’t you come over here and-”

“How are you here?” asked Arthur, interrupting. Alfred blinked.

“I just told you. Matthew is my brother, and I asked him-”

“No. No, I mean, how are you… what is…” Arthur closed his eyes; brows furrowed, and took a series of long, slow breaths. “ _Why_ are you here? What sparked it?”

“I found our old yearbook.” Arthur looked up at that, and Alfred locked eyes with him immediately, determined to see brightness and life where it had been. “I was flipping through it when I saw your picture. Then I just got to thinking, you know what, I miss my friend.” He shrugged. There was no point in making the story more complicated than it was. “So here I am.”

“Here you are indeed.” Like a statue coming to life, Arthur moved from the spot he had been stuck in and crossed the few yards of space between them. He sat next to Alfred with a heavy breath, and then mumbled, “It _has_ been ten years.”

“Hey, better late than never.” Alfred shrugged. “What’s that old saying? Best time to build a tree was ten years ago, second best time is now? Something or another.” 

“Yes, but…” Arthur looked up, those blank, unseeing eyes surveying the clouds drifting above the building. “Things change.”

“Matthew said that too,” said Alfred. Then he chuckled humorlessly and flipped a hand in the air. “You know, I don’t see why everyone is so hung up on that.”

Arthur blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, things _do_ change. I get that. But like, today isn’t the same as yesterday, and tomorrow isn’t going to be the same as today. Things change all the time.” He paused, and Arthur slowly lowered his gaze from the sky to look at him. “That doesn’t mean some things can’t stay the same, does it, Artie?”

Arthur paused as if to consider it, then shrugged. “I see you never learned to stop using that bloody nickname.”   


Alfred chuckled again. It didn’t sound so wrong this time. “See? Some things never change!”

Arthur hummed, maybe in agreement, Alfred wasn’t sure. “You got rid of that… voice,” said Arthur, seemingly to himself. “Before, you always had that… that bloody, blasted…” Another pause, another slow, deep breath. “Twang,” he finished quietly.

Alfred nodded, perhaps too enthusiastically. “Yeah, well, that southern boy charm can only get you so far. I managed to get rid of it around the time I got my first contract.”

“Contract?”

“With the NFL, yeah.”

“That American football nonsense?” If Arthur was surprised, Alfred could not tell. “Still?”

Alfred nodded once. “Yep. The quarterback for the New England Patriots, actually.”

“Oh.” Arthur lifted his gaze and looked around – at the bare courtyard, at the building in front of them, at the socks on his feet – and then looked back at his hands. “Good for you, then.”

And then it hit him, even if Arthur had become so hard to read: he was embarrassed. At that moment Alfred knew, somewhere underneath this cloak of _something_ Arthur had developed over the years, that he was still as proud as he once was.

Arthur was, after all, still Arthur.

“Hey Arthur,” said Alfred, as casually as he could manage. “Remember my first game, the one I made you come to?”

The response came slow. “I do.”

“Remember how I was so excited that when I ran out onto the field, I fell right on my face?”

Alfred looked for anything in Arthur’s expression – a twitch of the lips, a glimmer in his eyes, an arch in his brow. “I… think,” he said finally. In that moment, Alfred swore his eyes flashed for the briefest second. He swore.

“Well, that happened again last week, actually. The video has, like, a million views by now. I don’t think the youtube comments will ever let me hear the end of it.” Alfred could not help but laugh at himself then, a skill he had developed since he was thrust into the public eye. It was a lot easier than it was in high school – but maybe that had more to do with who was in the audience.

Arthur shook his head without changing his expression. “You moron,” he said. Alfred was almost relieved by the insult. At least it was familiar. “I always told you, careful, be careful. You never listened.”

“I was never very good at that, was I?” Alfred laughed. “I’m still not. Hell, Mattie told me not to come today, and here I am.”

Arthur turned to look at him again. “He told you not to come,” he repeated.

“Yeah. He worries too much. I obviously know best, so I didn’t listen.”

“Never listened…” Arthur shook his head once, then twice, threading his fingers together as if his hands were cold. “I bet you’re regretting that now.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes in genuine confusion. “Regretting… what?”

“Come off it, Alfred.” For the first time that day, Arthur almost succeeded in snapping at him like he used to. Almost. “None of us want to be here. No one wants to be near us, either.” Arthur said the words emotionlessly, detached, as if he had accepted them quite some time ago. Alfred frowned. “I’m shocked you didn’t make a run for it.”

Alfred would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. So, he chose not to address that at all. “I can’t say I expected… everything, but I don’t think I regret coming over. I wanted to see you. Besides, I don’t even know much about this place yet.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, just enough to be noticeable. “Yet?”

“Yeah. I mean; I have to get going soon, since I have training across the country tomorrow. I don’t have too much time today.” Alfred took a breath and looked into the sky. “But like, I have time other days.”

“I don’t quite… understand, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I was thinking…” Alfred tapped his fingers against his legs. “I want to visit you here, you know, when I’m not playing. With any luck, I should be able to get over in a week or so.”

“I’m not sure if that’s the best idea,” said Arthur.

“Well, I think it’s a great idea.”

A pause. Wind whipped through the trees, Arthur rubbed his hands together, and Alfred searched for something familiar on his face. Eventually, Arthur whispered. “Do you? Really?”

“Yes, Artie. Next week,” said Alfred. He wasn’t sure exactly _how_ he was going to make this work, or even really what _this_ was, but the words came unthinkingly. “I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third updated chapter!

Alfred's feet pounded the rubbery track as he rounded the corner, sweat dripping from his forehead and landing on his shirt. The sun beat down on his back, his neck, his calves. He probably should have put on sunscreen. At the very least, he should have eaten more this morning. Or gotten more sleep. Something. Alfred finished his lap and bent over at the waist, leaning his weight against his knees. He searched for his water bottle – a red, white, and blue hyrdoflask – and took a long drink.

It had been a day. One day of packing, traveling, and running like a hamster on a wheel was all that separated Alfred from his afternoon at the hospital. Twenty-four hours, and he was back across the country, right back in the same routine. But Alfred did not feel the same. Instead of focused and fired up, he felt distracted and disoriented. It didn't help that the temperature had soared into the nineties. He felt far from himself, and he was damn sure Arthur was the one responsible for that.

Leaving Arthur in the courtyard took more effort and will than flipping a tire across the field (which Alfred had not long ago, albeit pretty sloppily). It felt strangely, yet undeniably wrong, and Alfred had not been able to shake the feeling even as he kept going, and going, until he hit New England. It was as if he didn't want to leave until things were back to normal. That must be possible, he told himself about a million times.

As a result, the further away the hospital got, so did his thoughts of this… 'new' Arthur. Alfred thought only of their time in high school the whole way back. Within a hundred miles, he could barely even remember his flat expression, disjointed words, or vacant eyes. None of that had a place in any of his memories.

And the more he thought about what things were like a decade ago, the more confused he got. Alfred just didn't get it. If Arthur was so sick now, supposedly, then why had he seemed perfectly fine back then? Yesterday had to be a misunderstanding, a fluke. It had to-

"Alright boys, line up. Time for another drill."

Alfred looked away from the sky and came back to reality at the sound of his coach's voice. Coach Davie was young for his position, probably barely pushing forty. His shaggy blond hair paired with the spray of freckles across his nose only made him look younger. Compared to other coaches Alfred had worked with throughout his career, Davie was different in the sense that he almost never got angry or yelled. Through some magic, his kindness only seemed to whip the team into even better shape.

Alfred responded to the direction immediately. He trotted over to the fifty-yard line, sun beating down on his bare shoulders, to join the rest of his team. A shuffle, scrape, and tackle drill was starting, which entailed little more than two players charging at each other. Alfred usually loved watching this sort of thing before actually doing it. It put fire in his veins, hungered him. Today, his gaze, as well as his head, was in the clouds.

Davie blew the whistle, a humid gust of wind sputtered through the air, a few men startled talking loudly to each other a few feet away, and Alfred tried to think. Grunts and the sound of helmets crashing together sliced through his concentration. Think, he told himself through the shouting and whistles and wind. There must be an explanation. Must be a reason. If only he could go back, right now, see him again, ask more questions…

The linebacker next to him swatted his shoulder, and Alfred blinked dazedly against the realization he was being spoken to.

"Jones? You doing okay? Come on, you're up."

"Oh, sorry, yeah! Let's do it!" shouted Alfred as he ran up to the start. God, it was hot. His vision blurred at the edges as he shuffled through the blocks. He tripped a bit, nearly lost his footing, and cursed under his breath as he started again. The simple step patterns felt impossibly complicated today. Midway through, he wiped his clammy palms on his shorts and swallowed with a dry throat. He reminded himself to focus. This shouldn't be so hard. It was just so hot.

Alfred reached the end of the end of the obstacles, and suddenly, chillingly, like ice down his back, a piece of the puzzle flew into place. He had forgotten a few things. Things he could not quite place. Maybe he could, if he was only able to pause for a moment, think, breathe-

The linebacker Alfred had forgotten about rammed into him with the speed, intensity, and possibly weight of a freight train, something he should have been expecting but wasn't. Unprepared and defenseless, his feet were out from under him before he could so much as look down from the sky.

Arthur was sat at his kitchen table with his history textbook, furiously copying down notes in preparation for his exam next week, when the phone rang.

Arthur jumped, startled, and rushed off towards the living room. It was after ten pm, his mother was asleep. He hoped this wouldn't wake her; he would never hear the end of it. Who could possibly be calling at such an hour? He fast walked to the phone and picked it up.

"Hello?" said Arthur snippily. "Please, if you're trying to sell me something, we're not interested."

"Arthur?" said the voice on the line. "Uh, not really lookin' to sell anything, I'm afraid."

"Oh," said Arthur. It was that American boy. Alfred, he believed. He had completely forgotten he had given him his number. "Alfred, it's late. Can this wait until morning?"

"It… um, it won't take long," said Alfred, a bit of hope in his voice.

Arthur paused. He had only spoken to this boy twice, but even then he could tell something was off. "Alright, out with it then."

"So, remember when I said I was trying out for the football team?"

Arthur remembered, scarcely. "Um, sure."

"Well, I made it." A quiet second ticked by. "Just found out today."

"Oh." Arthur had to wonder why, out of all people, Alfred was telling him this. They barely knew each other. He shifted his weight from one bare foot to another, cold on the wooden floor. "Well, congratulations, then."

"Yeah! I'm real excited. I even have a game next week." Another quiet second. "There's just one little problem."

"And that would be?"

"You see, I had to spend so much time practicing for tryouts that I didn't have a whole lot of time otherwise, and I happened to have an algebra exam that same week! Real good timing, isn't that right?"

Arthur could see where this was going, though he still had no idea why he was being told. "Oh, no."

"Yeah, so, I ended up flunkin' it pretty bad. I think I got… a thirty-six? Something like that." Alfred chuckled, somewhat uneasily. "My old man isn't too happy with me."

"I would imagine not," said Arthur. "Look, Alfred, I'm very sorry, but – "

"He barely even cared I got in. But, anyway, that don't matter too much, what I was calling to ask if you wanted to come to the game?" Alfred spoke quickly, stumbling on the words. "Mattie is going – you remember him, right? And I'll feel bad if he has to sit alone."

Arthur stared into the dark, empty hallway. He could not think of something he wanted to do less than attend an American football game. However, considering Alfred had gone through all this trouble to ask, he figured it would be rude to decline. "Sure," he said, wondering how much he would regret this.

"Oh! Oh, great, Arthur, I'm so glad! Thank you, buddy!"

Before Arthur would respond, he heard something close to shouting from Alfred's end.

"Oh, um, I gotta go. I think dad isn't quite done yelling about that test," he chuckled again. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Well, see you at the game, lord willing the creek don't rise."

"What?" Arthur had no idea what that meant but decided to ignore it. "Anyway, right. I'll be seeing you."

"Okay! Well, I best be going – dad, give me a second! – have a good night, Artie!"

"You as well." Arthur pulled the phone away, his thumb hovering over the end button. But before he could think about it, he said, "I'm very happy you made the team."

"Oh. Thank you," said Alfred. The shouting continued, and Alfred quickly finished. "I'll make sure to win for ya. See you later!" Then, the line went dead.

Arthur stared for a bit, scoffed, and hung up the phone. What an odd one. As he resumed his studying, he found it hard to concentrate.

"Jones! Alfred, are you okay?"

Alfred opened his eyes. He'd only been on the ground a few seconds. It felt like much longer.

"Yeah," he said, his throat dry and his head throbbing. Before he could pull himself up, Davie was standing over him, hand extended. Alfred took it and clamored to his feet. "Thanks. I zoned out for a minute, there."

Davie pursed his lips. "Why don't you come inside for a second?"

Alfred felt his face warm, and this time it had nothing to do with the scorching sun. "Oh, no, really, I'm-"

"Come on, Alfred."

There was no point in arguing. Alfred trotted along beside Davie, making their way to the locker room. The other players immediately started hollering at him, heckling him for getting in trouble, laughing.

"Oh, screw you guys!" shouted Alfred over his shoulder, flashing his middle finger jokingly.

"Keep going with those drills, boys." Davie attempted to sound firm, but the side of his mouth twitched into a grin. He patted Alfred once on the back. "I just want to talk to you real quick."

The locker room was empty, silent, and cool. It did nothing to cool Alfred's burning skin. He was embarrassed, not to mention mad at himself. He spoke about a second after Davie closed the door. "Look, Coach, I'm sorry. I'm just having an off day."

"I can tell," said Davie. "Why is that?"

Alfred wasn't sure if he could answer that. Maybe he just didn't want to. Fortunately for him, the question ended up being rhetorical.

"Are you eating how you're supposed to?"

Alfred nodded firmly. "Yes, coach."

"Getting enough fluids? It's a hot one today."

"Uh-huh!" Alfred waved his water bottle in the air for emphasis. Davie raised an eyebrow at him, and Alfred rushed into what he hoped was a distraction. "Pretty dang hot for June, ain't it? Feels like a sauna out there."

"Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"That accent of yours is coming back."

Alfred shut his eyes and exhaled sharply through his nose. Damn it. If he had one tell, it was his stupid twang. "I guess I'm a little preoccupied," he said carefully.

"What's up, sport?" Davie clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder; summoning that familiar fatherly tone Alfred had never, ever heard from any other coach. It relaxed him, a little. "I'm here to help."

So, Alfred took a breath, and told him. About finding the yearbook, about missing his old best friend, about searching the Internet only to come about with nothing. About talking to his brother and getting the biggest bombshell of his life. Davie raised an eyebrow but kept silent, and Alfred went on to explain how that day at the hospital had gone. He explained Arthur's strange words, his dead eyes, his diagnosis. But more than anything, Alfred explained to him that the old Arthur was in there, somewhere. Maybe he was only reminding himself.

After Alfred fell silent, Davie gave a low whistle. "Damn. No wonder you're out of it."

"My apologies, sir," said Alfred immediately. He might have a reason for preforming badly, but if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was excuses. "I shouldn't let it get in the way."

"That's alright, Al. I understand." Davie crossed his arms. "When are you planning on going back there?"

"Next week, I'm hoping."

Davie nodded, looking down momentarily. He regarded Alfred with raised eyebrows. "How will that work when the season starts?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes, a bit taken aback. "That isn't until September."

"Yeah, but I'm thinking you'll want to keep on seeing this guy."

It was amazing, how Davie always seemed to figure out what Alfred was thinking before he did. People had always told him he wasn't very good at thinking ahead, and only now was he starting to believe them. Would he be going to see Arthur in September? Then Alfred realized – in all honestly, no matter if it was unrealistic or not, he was hoping Arthur would be out by then.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," said Alfred. Not much good could come out of worrying about it now.

"Alright. In the mean time, let's pick it up." Davie swatted Alfred on the lower back. "Get out there and give me four laps."

Alfred nodded swiftly and dashed out onto the field as quickly as he could. He would be lying if he said Arthur wasn't on his mind for the rest of the day, but right now, there were other things to worry about.

It would be next week in no time.

.

The bloody light kept flashing.

That was all Arthur could think as he sat in Dr. William's office for the millionth time, listening to questions he heard just as frequently. The florescent light above their heads was flickering, hissing, whispering to him in a language he understood but didn't want to. Arthur can only concentrate on that blasted light. The office was quiet, but for him, it was loud. It was suffocating.

"Arthur?" Matthew nearly whispered. Arthur forced himself to hear, to look. "How are you feeling today?"

Arthur tightened his hands into fists at his knees, thinking. The static always made it difficult. Today was… bearable, he supposed. He did not hear the clopping as much as he did other days. More importantly, it was under control, for now. "Quite alright," he said eventually. The light flickered, Arthur's eyes burned. He squinted.

"Just alright?"

"I'm just-" There it was again. Arthur turned his head sharply, but as soon as he looked, it was gone. It was pink this time. Then he heard something, faint and murmuring. He ignored it. "I'm just fine, thank you."

"How are your hallucinations? Better, worse?"

Arthur pursed his lips. He hated that word, 'hallucinations.' It was… a fair term, he supposed, but hearing it again and again only reminded him that the world he lived in was fake. The mumbling and pounding and flashes of color in his vision were as real to Arthur as the sky above him. They were real enough to force away his sanity and toss him in this dump, anyway. But no one else could see that.

But maybe, saida small, hissing, familiar voice, everyone else is just wrong. Wrong about us. Wrong. Wrong…

"Hard to tell," he mumbled finally.

"Alright. We'll keep going with the current medication regimen, then. You're not having any problems with side effects, right?"

The light flickered again, static hissed through the air and clawed at Arthur's ears, demonic, unrelenting. Poison, they said, the pills are poison. Arthur bit his lip, shook his head. His skin burned. His vision blurred. The light was burning him now. Poison.

Matthew tilted his head. "Arthur?"

Arthur could not stop himself from asking, "What will it do to me?"

"Oh." Matthew looked a bit taken aback, but explained anyway. "Well, what you've been taking is an antipsychotic, as I told you when they were first prescribed. It's called risperidone. What it does is intervene in nerve communication in the brain, thus lessening your symptoms." Matthew smiled. "Does that make sense?"

Arthur knew Matthew had explained this to him before, and it was a perfectly logical explanation, but…

He's lying. Lying to you. Lying. Arthur took a deep, shaking breath. He tried to focus on the very light that was driving him mad. No, no… Lying. Poison. Don't take it. Don't listen. Stupid. Worthless. Poison. There it was again, pink, green, the floor was moving. Pounding. They're coming. They're watching.

"Arthur? Are you alright?"

Arthur wrapped his shaking hands together. "Yes," he said, though he could barely hear himself. "Can you… can you hear that?"

Matthew paused, looked down, and scribbled something on his clipboard. More lies that made him look crazy, Arthur was positive. "I'm not sure what you mean," said Matthew finally. "Can you describe this sound to me?"

He's making that noise. He's lying. Lying. Don't listen. Don't look.

"Never mind. It's… it's gone." Arthur cleared his throat and wrung his hands together once more. It was approaching him, faster, faster, louder… "Must have been the air conditioning."

You filthy liar, that blasted light hissed between flashes. Arthur shot a glare at the ceiling. "Not today," he breathed, barely audible even to himself.

"Okay," said Matthew slowly. At least he hadn't heard him. "I think we can move on, then. There's one thing I've been really meaning to ask you."

Arthur blinked a few times and nodded, as if he was not being blinded, deafened, attacked from all angles. He wanted to believe Matthew. Wanted to trust him. For a split second, everything was quiet. Relief washed into Arthur like a tidal wave.

"Alfred showing up yesterday must have been quite a shock. Can you tell me how you feel about all of that?"

Twice as quickly as it stopped, it started against full force. Too many voices assaulted Arthur at once. He could not tell them apart. The light flashed, and the beams were coming at him, into his mind, reading his thoughts and sending them… out. Out where? He wasn't sure. Something was coming. He turned his head and saw nothing, the voices picked up. Arthur wanted to run. He wanted to scream.

Instead, he forced out, "It was certainly… shocking."

Maybe he had wanted Alfred to come. All those years ago, he had certainly wanted…

A voice cut the thought off before it could get too far. He brought him here. Spying on you.

Matthew nodded. "I bet. Any thoughts beyond that?"

The voices got louder, more insistent, and Arthur finally gave in and believed them. He nearly shouted, "You brought him here. I know you did."

"No, Arthur, I didn't." Matthew spoke firmly, he gaze on Arthur solid and unmoving, just as he responded at least a hundred times before. "Alfred may be my brother, but he came here all on his own."

"You must have told him." Arthur could not stop now. He was on autopilot. "How else would he have found me?"

Matthew faltered. He glanced briefly at his hands before looking back at Arthur, his brows furrowed and his eyes less certain. "Well… Alfred was already looking for you."

Arthur blinked, balked. The fog cleared for a moment. If Alfred had been looking for him, after all this time, even, perhaps-

Don't be stupid.

Arthur flinched in pain. Matthew was speaking again, maybe he had never stopped, maybe he had never been speaking to begin with. The hissing started again. The light blinked again. Something flickered in an out of view. Arthur could no longer tell any of it apart.

"…When he asked me questions, I answered them. That's really all you need to know."

LIAR. LIAR.

"No! He must have wanted something, he…" The sound was right next to Arthur now. He could barely hear anything over it – Matthew, himself, even that god forsaken light – it all got lost in the bloody clopping. Arthur looked to one side, saw nothing, looked to the other, saw nothing… where was it?

Matthew was speaking again. "Alfred only wanted…"

Arthur exploded. "For the love of Christ, where is it?"

A pause. Matthew blinked, perhaps a bit taken aback, but not as much as he should be. "Where is what, Arthur?"

"The bloody, blasted…" Arthur lifted his hands to his ears, but it blocked nothing out. "The UNICORN! I know it's here! It would help me if I ever bloody found it!"

"Arthur, remember what I told you," said Matthew calmly, far, far, too calmly. How could he whisper when everything else was screaming? "Stop and assess. Try to list five things you can see, four things you can hear…"

"To hell with that rubbish! All I hear is the bloody CLOPPING!"

"Arthur, really, I can't hear anything unusual."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, raised his hands to his head. "You're LYING!"

The same force drove all of this, Arthur was certain. Whatever was causing Matthew to lie to him, to paint him as crazy, must have been throwing these… things, into his world, from the voices to the lights to the strange flash of green that occasionally flew across his field of vision. It was all connected, all coming after him, all keeping his saving grace away. Alfred's sudden appearance was only part of the scheme.

"Arthur, I'm going to need you to stay with me…"

"No! You brought him here! You brought all of this here! I don't trust you!"

Not safe. Not safe. Get away.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. It was all suddenly too much. He felt exposed, vulnerable, attacked, the walls were closing in, and that light was threatening to engulf him. Something was laughing at him; something else was screaming in his ear. So Arthur did all he could think to do. He got up and ran.

Arthur did not have a destination. He just needed to get away, away, away, until this constant internal hell quieted down enough to breathe through. The lobby passed by in a blur, and before Arthur knew it, he was outside. He was in the same courtyard he had met Alfred in just yesterday.

The clouds were too low in the sky, only getting lower, threatening. It must have meant they were outside now, Arthur decided immediately. There truly was no escape. It was coming. His pulse grew painful, his head light.

"Leave me alone," Arthur first whispered, and then screamed, "Leave me alone!"

You can't ignore us, Arthur.

The stone walkway was rough beneath Arthur's knees. He all but folded himself in half, hands over his ears, and gasped for air he wasn't sure existed. He heard something approaching, even felt it, but there was simply no energy left to stand again. The clopping was gone. This was the end. Arthur was completely certainthis was the end. At this point, he wanted it to be.

Why now, a voice whispered. Arthur took too long to realize the voice was finally his own. Why this. Why me. As always, he had far more questions than answers. Nothing happened. He kept waiting.

We're coming. Coming for you.

A pause.

Not yet.

The air was back. Arthur bit down on his lip, his head nearly touching his knees and his fingernails leaving imprints on his skull. He was bracing himself, always bracing himself for something that never came but always felt close. A moment of peace was all he wanted. It was all he wanted since he was eighteen, and ten years later he still didn't have it. Nothing had changed.

Nothing ever changed.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated chapter 4! This one is so long, Jesus.

Arthur was safe, for now.

It took a surprisingly short amount of time for the murmuring to quiet down and the grey clouds overhead to be broken up by light. It wasn't perfect, and it never was, but it was manageable. That was all Arthur could reasonably hope for.

He had quickly collected himself once the episode had passed, as it was hardly gentlemanly to stay squatting on the ground like some kind of animal, and stationed himself on a bench near the edge of the garden. The inside of the hospital was still… too much. Arthur was safe and there was no reason to risk it.

Things were at complete peace for a while. Some time passed before Arthur heard anything at all, something not quite like clopping, but more like… footsteps. Then there was no more peace. They were approaching quickly, too quickly. Cold sweat bloomed on the back of his neck. He braced himself to run.

But then Arthur looked up and saw that the thing approaching him was not _it,_ but it was, in fact, Matthew. Arthur quickly collected himself, smoothing down his shirt and crossing one leg neatly over the other. The picture of sanity. "Hello, Dr. Williams," he said as if nothing had happened.

But of course, Matthew was not so easily fooled. "Feeling better, Arthur?"

"Yes, yes," muttered Arthur, lifting a hand dismissively. He turned his head to hide his burning face. "I just needed some air, it seems." He paused, debating, and then finished in a low voice. "I apologize for all of that."

"No need to be sorry. I'm just glad it passed." Matthew walked to the bench and sat down next to him. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Arthur wondered what he could say. His episodes were like a bad dream – the details were impossible to remember, but the effects were impossible to shake. He felt a shudder of panic tingle up his spine, across his skin, into his mind. Arthur bit his lip. "I'd rather we didn't."

Matthew nodded. "Alright."

Arthur let out a silent sigh of relief. One thing he liked about Matthew, he never pushed. It definitely made things easier.

"Hey, Arthur? Did Alfred tell you he's planning on coming back next week?"

Arthur's relief shattered and fell to his feet, right along with his stomach. He had completely forgotten. His world had been flipped upside down, and after all this nonsense, it had slipped his mind. Now it was all coming back, as strong as a punch to the gut.

"He did," he said. A quiet, menacing hiss followed. Arthur whispered. "Shut up."

Matthew tilted his head. "I'm sorry?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Arthur loudly, perhaps too loudly, in an attempt to drown out all the other noises congregating around him. "He's coming on his own this time?" It was not as much of a question as it was a personal reassurance.

"Yes. Just like he did the first time," said Matthew firmly. Arthur clung to the words. "Unless you don't want him to."

Arthur looked up. "Pardon?"

"I was meaning to ask you… do you want me to call him? I don't want to put you through any unnecessary stress."

 _Yes,_ a voice screamed. _Keep him away._ Arthur wasn't sure where this thought was coming from, whether it was embarrassment or distrust or something else entirely. But he knew _it_ was the one screaming, plotting, waiting, and Alfred must have something to do with it.

But for once, Arthur forced himself to ignore it. "That's alright," he said, this voice finally his own. "He's already made his plans, I bet. No sense in forcing him to cancel."

Matthew smiled, looking almost relieved. "Alright, then. I bet he'll be happy to see you." He stood. "I'm going to head back inside. Lunch is starting soon. Think you can join us?"

"Sure," said Arthur. But when he looked towards the building, towards confinement and walls and noise, he felt suddenly glued to his seat. "Just give me a few moments."

Matthew nodded, turned, and walked inside. Arthur waited until he disappeared behind the door, then let out a deep sigh. First the inside of the hospital, then Alfred, eventually the outside world… all of it seemed impossible. By now, his comfort zone was the size of a pinhole. He looked to the wind blowing through the trees in an attempt to clear his mind.

.

Even though he strongly considering going back on his word, Arthur followed through with his promise to Alfred. On a cold, miserable Friday evening in late September, he arrived back on campus to attend the first football game of the season. A strong wind whipped through Arthur's cardigan and he shuttered, pulling it closer, wishing he had brought a heavier jacket. Though he seemed to be the only one that was cold, judging by all the girls in short tops and boys in athletic shorts.

Americans. Several years in this country, and Arthur was no closer to understanding them.

Arthur trudged his way down the running track and up around to the bleachers, scanning the massive crowds. Alfred had told him Matthew would be sitting off to the left side. He wished he had been a little bit more specific, considering how many people were here. He squinted and scanned the crowd.

"Arthur."

"Ack!" shouted Arthur. Matthew had suddenly appeared next to him. He was wearing the same red jumper he was at the pep rally, and quite possibly the same blue jeans. His eyes were blank behind his thick glasses, his cheeks bright red from what looked like a combination of cold and acne. When Matthew said nothing, Arthur regained his composure and continued, "Terribly sorry, Matthew. You snuck up on me."

"I get that a lot," said Matthew. "Did you want to sit down?"

Alfred was an odd one, but Matthew was making him look almost painfully normal. Arthur nodded and followed. Matthew led them both up the bleachers, hands shoved in his kangaroo pocket, until he settled in a spot far removed from the riotous crowds. Relived, Arthur sat down next to him.

"I must admit, I'm not all that familiar with this game," said Arthur, trying to make small talk.

Matthew shook his head. "No, neither am I." His glasses reflected the field lights, almost sparkling. "But, it's important to Alfred, so I try to pretend."

"Sure," said Arthur. He looked out onto the field, where a row of cheerleaders were leading a chant. The game hadn't started yet. "Alfred was so excited about making this bloody team."

Matthew nodded. "You should have seen him when he got the jersey. Nearly bowled me over in the hallway."

Made sense, Arthur supposed. "What number is he?"

"Thirteen."

"Ah."

Arthur wondered how he had gotten that number, but immediately scolded himself for being superstitious. Another cold gust of wind blew past, rocking the shoddy metal bleachers. Several minutes passed in silence. Arthur barely noticed and took to people watching. Despite being a senior, he never really went to these events before. Just never could be bothered. He watched as groups of friends ran around, laughing, roughhousing, carrying on. He watched for what was possibly a moment too long.

"I'm sorry," said Matthew suddenly, snapping Arthur from his voyeurism. "I'm… not the best at making conversation."

"No worries," said Arthur honestly. The silence had been comfortable. Plus, he could barely call himself a master of banter. A loud noise erupted, and his attention was brought back to the field. "Looks like they're starting. Thirteen, you said?"

"Should be," said Matthew. He perked up and leaned forward. "Ope, there he is."

Following Matthew's gaze, Arthur saw a blond boy barrel out onto the field, helmet tucked under his arm. The number _13_ sat brightly on his back. His hands punched the sky, unhinged. Yes, that was certainly Alfred, Arthur thought to himself amusedly.

And then Alfred lost his footing and landed rather triumphantly on his face.

"For heaven's sake," groaned Alfred. He looked away to be polite, while the stands erupted in laughter. "Goodness. He'll never live that one down."

Matthew shrugged. "Eh, he'll be fine. That's the thing about Alfred. He doesn't get embarrassed."

"No?" asked Arthur. He couldn't exactly say the same.

"Nah. He takes it all in stride."

Sure enough, Alfred peeled himself off the ground and waved cheerfully to the audience. Arthur smiled to himself. "What a moron," he said.

"No," said Matthew quickly. "No, Alfred isn't stupid."

"Of course not, it was tongue in cheek," said Arthur. Maybe he should choose his words more carefully. Sometimes he forgot not everyone was as crass as the Brits. "Perhaps that was rude," he said apologetically.

"Sorry," said Matthew, his voice softening. "It's just, our dad is pretty tough on him, and…" He shook his head. "Never mind, sorry. Forget about it."

Arthur recalled the phone call from the other night and immediately felt guilty. Though he never got the full story, he could only imagine Alfred's father had some choice words for him over that exam. While the silence before had been pleasant, the one that followed that awkward exchange was just uncomfortable. He tried to focus on the game. Arthur watched Alfred as much as he could, though he could never be sure what was going on. After some time, _13_ caught the ball and dove for the end of the field. Immediately after, the crowd jumped to their feet and roared.

"That was good, I'm assuming."

Matthew was still seated, but he clapped. "That one, I understood," he said. "Alfred just scored a touchdown."

Arthur had heard that term once or twice, thankfully. "Oh, good."

"You know," said Matthew as those around them settled back down. "Alfred was so excited to tell you about making the team."

"So I figured," said Arthur, though he still couldn't understand why. "I was a little surprised to be the one he called."

"Well, yeah. Don't tell him I told you this, but Alfred is _fascinated_ by you."

"Oh." Arthur blinked, feeling confused. "Oh, really?"

"He hasn't stopped rambling about his "cool British friend" since his first day of classes, it's so… strange," said Matthew. He looked away and fiddled with his jumper sleeve. "Sorry, no offense."

No, it was strange, thought Arthur. "It's fine," he said. He couldn't say he was used to Americans being _fascinated_ by him, save for the occasional comment about his accent. He glanced back to the field, where Alfred was doing a discombobulated little dance after scoring. An older gentleman he assumed to be the coach waved a scolding finger. Arthur smirked. Fascinated. Well, maybe that went both ways.

The rest of the game passed uneventfully, Arthur alternating between chatting with Matthew and watching in silence. Despite the bitter winds, obnoxious crowds, and the dreadfully uncomfortable metal seats, it was the most fun Arthur had in quite some time.

Alfred's team had won the game. Matthew and Arthur made their way out to the school gates, waiting for Alfred to emerge from the locker room. Within minutes, Alfred barreled outside, cheeks flushed, and hair matted with sweat. He threw his arms around Matthew, assaulting Arthur with his duffle bag in the process.

"Did y'all see that?" asked Alfred. He flipped his damp hair out of his eyes and ran a hang through it, grinning widely.

Matthew gave him a playful push. "The part where you landed on your face? Yes, Al, I think the entire world saw that."

"Eh, whatever." Alfred turned to Arthur. "Art, buddy! You made it!" He paused, perhaps hesitating, before bouncing forward and embracing him.

Arthur's chest jumped violently. After a moment of stunned silence, he lifted a hand and patted Alfred's back a few times. "Yes, yes," he said. "Congratulations on winning."

Alfred pulled away, cocked his hip, and placed his hand triumphantly on it. "I said I would win it for you."

"Of course," muttered Arthur, though his chest continued to seize. "Well, anyway. Tremendous first game. I should be heading home, it's late."

"Home? Arthur, are you sure?"

"Well, yes. Why?"

"There's an afterparty," said Alfred like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "One of my teammates is hosting it. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I brought a pal."

"Home sounds great, actually," muttered Matthew.

Alfred slung his arm around his brother. "Not a chance, Mattie."

 _No,_ thought Arthur immediately, the word already on his tongue. _No, of course not._ He had never been a party person, just could never be bothered.

Similar to how he could never be bothered with football games, or friends. Arthur pursed his lips. Even though he could not understand it, he realized he was not quite ready for this evening to end.

"Sure, why not," he said before he could stop himself.

Alfred beamed. In the reflection of his glasses, Arthur watched a shining red car peel out of the school lot.

…

About twenty minutes, a few blocks, and a series of second thoughts later, Arthur arrived with Matthew and Alfred at a large house in the nicer part of town. The thrums of music could be heard from down the street. Upon reading the front lawn, Arthur quickly realized this was not the small soiree he had for some reason imagined. Teenagers gathered in groups outside, drinking from red cups, laughing and shouting over each other. Tucked between a few trees was a large beer keg. Recalling the drinking age in this country, Arthur wondered briefly how someone managed to get their hands on it. But he supposed that hardly mattered. _It IS a party,_ he thought to himself, almost scoldingly.

"Alfred," mumbled Matthew. "I'm not sure about this."

Arthur liked Matthew. In fact he was quite sure he had liked Matthew from the beginning, but now he was really sure. At least _someone_ had a good head on their shoulders. "I'm inclined to agree," said Arthur.

Alfred shook his head. "No fun, neither of you." He took a few steps closer to the doors. Neither Arthur nor Matthew followed him. Alfred turned back, for a moment looking almost hurt. The expression was gone so quickly Arthur may have imagined it. "I mean, y'all don't have to stay if you don't wanna. I just thought it would be fun."

Oh, realized Arthur suddenly. Because Alfred was new here. He didn't exactly strike Arthur as someone who would have trouble making friends, but school had barely started two weeks ago. For some strange, incomprehensible reason, Arthur was perhaps the first acquaintance Alfred had made in this city.

Arthur looked to Alfred, who was looking at him like a golden retriever. He recalled what Matthew had said back at the stadium. _Fascinated_ … No, he was not an acquaintance to Alfred. "Friend" was a much better word.

"I suppose I can stay for a chat," said Arthur. He exchanged a look with Matthew, something between agreement and solidarity. "Not for too long, though."

"That's more like it!" Though Alfred would surely never admit it, he sounded close to relieved. He turned and barreled through the front doors of the absurdly large house, and Arthur figured he had absolutely no choice but to follow him. Exchanging another knowing look with Matthew, they waltzed into the belly of the beast.

The inside of the house made the outside look like an old folk's home. Arthur could barely hear himself think, much less whatever Alfred was saying to him. Something about the game, he assumed. Every couple of seconds someone would come barreling through and invade Arthur's personal space. A few minutes in, he realized with disgust that someone had spilt some sort of sticky liquid on the hem of his sweater. Arthur removed it and tied it around his waist indignantly.

"Jones!" called a voice, somehow managing to be louder than everything else. "There you are! Get over here!"

"Teammate," said Matthew, so quietly Arthur could barely make out half the word. Matthew pointed and Arthur looked to see a monstrously tall teenager, or at least he assumed was a teenager, though he could probably pass for twenty-five. He was wearing the same kind of jersey Alfred was.

"Hey, guys!" called Alfred. He lifted an arm and waved spastically. Then he turned to Arthur and Matthew, who were both doing little else besides staring at him incredulously. "Come on, guys, let me introduce y'all."

Arthur glanced behind him and for a very long second considered making a run for it. This whole situation was loud, sticky, tiring. It was obnoxious. A headache was settling in on his temples and his feet hurt. But then Arthur looked back at Alfred, at his bright eyes and unwavering smile. A few strands of blond hair fell to his cheeks, flushed and freckled. He needed a haircut. And perhaps a drink of water, something to slow him down. Alfred never seemed to stop moving, not since the moment Arthur met him. _Fascinated,_ thought Arthur again, despite himself. And then he nodded and followed him.

Arthur found himself in some sort of sitting room, thankfully away from much of the chaos thrumming about in the kitchen and foyer. Wrapping around the corner of the room was a quite lovely white leather sectional. Several boys wearing the same jersey were spread around it, some with girls, others chatting amongst themselves or passing around drinks. Arthur hoped none of them would mess up to couch. It looked quite expensive.

"There he is!" said the boy who had called out to Alfred earlier. He stepped forward and clapped Alfred on the back. "Great first game today!"

Arthur searched the boy's face, protective all of a sudden, for a trace of insincerity. He didn't find any.

"Thanks! I'll try and keep my face out of the dirt next time," said Alfred.

That earned a laugh from the room. And they seemed to be laughing with him, rather than at him, which left Arthur feeling strangely relieved. Matthew seemed to be right, Alfred must not get embarrassed. Speaking of Matthew, where had he run off to? Arthur looked to either side of him and realized he had disappeared.

"Arthur, this is…" Alfred said a name but the music happened to swell at the same time. He didn't want to make him repeat it, so Arthur just nodded. "…and this is my good buddy Arthur!"

"Cool," said the boy. "Alfred, did you want a drink?" He opened a cooler that was set up carelessly at the foot of the sectional and fished out a can.

"Sure," said Alfred. He took the can and opened it, taking a cautious sip. He drew his hand away and grimaced. "Oh, gross. Never mind. Arthur, do you want this?"

Arthur shrugged and took it from him. It was some kind of American light beer. He generally preferred rum, but he liked lager enough. And he got the feeling that no one would be offering _him_ a drink, at least not directly, so whatever. Arthur took a long drink.

"Do you guys have any coke?" asked Alfred. Someone handed him a red can a moment later.

"Nice sweater," said the boy. Arthur realized with a start that he was speaking to him. "Late to the country club?"

Arthur looked down and realized his sweater was still tied around his waist. Not the best look for this kind of thing, he thought grimly. Flushed, he forced a short chuckle and ripped it off, lobbing it to a dusty corner. He would grab it later. _Stupid,_ said the voice in his head, a bit more aggressively than usual. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Arthur blinked away the harsh thoughts, embarrassed and overwhelmed. There was so much going on, between the music and the crowd and everyone around him scream-talking. A thrum of anxiety tingled its way up his neck, which Arthur forced down with a long drink.

Alfred was oblivious to Arthur's distress, drinking pop and joking around with another player. Arthur quickly finished the beer and tracked down another one.

"Hey, Alfred," said another teammate. "I want to introduce you to my friend."

To the other side of him was a tall, slim Asian young lady with her long hair tied in a low ponytail, a pink flower clip holding a stray piece back. She wore a red sweater and a white tennis skirt. "Hello," she said, smiling brightly, "My name is Mei."

"My pleasure!" said Alfred, crossing the room and taking her hand in a shake. "My name is Alfred Jones. Lovely to meet you, darling." He winked. Mei chuckled.

"Laying it on a bit thick, are we?" said Arthur so quietly he was sure nobody could hear him.

He went to take a sip from his second beer and realized it was empty. He opened the cooler and pulled out another. He wasn't sure who's beer he was drinking but figured it didn't really matter. There was more than enough to go around.

Another hour, and Arthur was sat rather awkwardly on the armrest of the sectional, sipping on whatever number can of lager he was on. He had lost count, but it wasn't a big deal, Arthur knew his limits. Alfred was sat beside him, pressed to the corner of the sectional with that girl he was introduced to – Maya, was it? Or Mary? – talking about some TV show Arthur had never heard of. Alfred had been talking to her since she walked in. He had tried to include Arthur in the conversation at a few points, but it just didn't flow as nicely as it did when it was between the two of them. Figures, Arthur thought, it seemed Alfred could talk to anyone. Really, there was no reason for Arthur to be here at all. And where in the bloody hell was Matthew?

"Dawson is a neat character," said Alfred, leaning into the seat. "Little bit dopey sometimes, but I guess I can relate."

"I don't know about _dopey,_ " said the girl Arthur had forgotten the name of. "Charming is a better word." She lightly touched his arm, and Alfred smiled into a bashful response.

Oh, for crying out loud. Arthur decided he had better things to do than watch Alfred flirt. "Alfred," he said loudly, probably too loudly. The room was a bit fuzzy at the corners. "I think I should go find Matthew."

"Shoot, did we lose track of him?" said Alfred, looking to either side. Matthew had been nowhere to be seen since they got here, but it seemed Alfred had not noticed at all.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Anyway…" Arthur pulled himself from the armrest, stumbled a bit, and lost his hold on his drink. It landed spectacularly on Alfred's lap, splattering amber liquid all over the leather sectional Arthur had been so worried about. His stomach sank to his feet, but he was suddenly very dizzy, and all he could say was, "Oh, bugger."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Jeez, Arthur, like a bull in a china shop!" Alfred brushed the liquid from his shirt, staining even more of the leather. "No worries, I'll go fetch a rag– "

He kept speaking, but Arthur began to tune him out when he realized the rest of the room was laughing. A couple of them went as far as to openly point at him. And this was not the same friendly laughter they had shared with Alfred talked about tripping, no, they are laughing _at_ him. Even though Arthur could barely string a thought together, he had the good sense to know that much. A wave of nausea hit him like a truck.

"I should find Matthew," muttered Arthur, and then he bolted from the room.

Arthur pushed his way through the loud, loud, loud house and out into the front yard. The cool air rushed into his eyes and nose. It had started to rain, a fine mist blowing in with the wind. His stomach settling, Arthur sat heavily against the front steps and rested his forehead in his palms. He felt like he was on a carnival ride, spinning away. Maybe he hadn't known his limits as well as he thought he did.

"Arthur."

"Jesus," mumbled Arthur, surprised but almost too exhausted to react. He looked up and saw Matthew standing over him, glasses speckled with rain.

"Are you okay?"

"Been better," mumbled Arthur. What a disaster this had been. "Where have you been this entire time?"

Matthew shrugged. "Just walking. Parties aren't really my thing."

"Smart." Arthur tilted his head towards the sky, letting the quickening rain fall against his face. He wondered where Alfred was, if he was laughing with his new friends about what a moron Arthur had made of himself. Well, if anything, Alfred would not need to use Arthur as a security blanket any longer. They barely had anything in common anyway, it would make sense that they would only talk for a handful of days. "Fascinated" his bloody arse.

"Arthur! Oh my gosh, are you alright?"

Alfred was barreling down the steps, carrying a red cup, whatever was in it sloshing over the sides. He sat down and thrust the cup in Arthur's hand. Water. "Fine, I'm fine." Arthur gestured with the cup to Matthew. "I found him."

"Oh, hey, Matt. Drink the water, Art."

Not up to arguing, Arthur swallowed down the entire glass.

"Little too much to drink?" asked Alfred, smiling sympathetically.

Arthur fought the very powerful urge to lob the cup at his head. The last thing he needed was someone several years his junior to lecture him about drinking. "I am _just fine,_ Alfred."

Alfred lifted a hand. "Whatever you say, bud." He took the cup from Arthur and set it next to him on the stairs. "Did you want me to walk you home?"

Arthur's immediate thought was yes, he did, but he was humiliated at the idea of Alfred taking care of him like a child. "Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

"Oh, no, I was about to hit the road anyway. Got church in the morning." Alfred glanced down the road and then back at Arthur. "Oh, you know what? My new friend Mei drove here tonight. I could ask if you could give us a ride. She's parked…" Alfred pointed to the end of the driveway. Sitting alongside the curb was a shining red car.

Another swift strike of nausea hit Arthur in the gut. He was not sure why, but all he knew in that moment was that he did not want to be anywhere near that car. Clenching his stomach to avoid being sick, he rose shakily to his feet. "That won't be necessary. I'll see myself home."

"Art-"

"Goodbye, Alfred."

And so Arthur sauntered home, pushing the thoughts of the disastrous evening away with the falling rain. When he entered his kitchen, his answer machine was blinking. Three missed calls from Alfred.

.

The week passed far too quickly for Arthur's liking. Which was quite the oddity, actually, considering every other week he had spent here passed like each hour was twice as long as it ought to be. But this time, seven days had passed before he realized it.

And so Arthur was left to wait, and wait, which such tension that the barrel of a gun might as well been pressed to his temple, until he looked the window saw the gaudiest red, white, and blue car he had ever seen in his life pull into a space near the entrance. He had never seen that car before, but he could easily assume it was Alfred's. No one else would own such a thing.

Matthew entered the room then, so quickly it was as if Alfred's arrival was controlling him… Arthur pushed the idea from his head.

"Alfred is here. He just called me," he said.

 _Liar…_ "Oh." Arthur's vision slowly clouded, like it had begun to snow indoors. His mouth opened and the words fell out like marbles, jumbled up and beyond his control. "Seems… the flag he has, decorated on the headlights..."

Matthew's expression fell blank, but a moment later he shook his head with jolt and blinked a few times. "Oh, his car. Pretty ridiculous, huh? That's Alfred for you." He smiled, too gently. Patronizingly. "Deep breaths, Arthur."

Arthur hesitated. "Of course," he said, as if reminding him was simply unnecessary. Invisible hands pulled at the stings attached to his heart, forcing it to hammer and pound against his ribs.

"I suppose I'll send him in, then."

Before Arthur could even look up, Matthew was gone. Snatched away, a voice insisted, or perhaps hiding like a demon in the shadows. _It_ was still pulling the strings. Arthur could do nothing but ignore it, and wait.

The footsteps came first. Even those had character, Arthur noticed through his partial panic, like a heartbeat or a voice against the floorboards. He kept his gaze low and saw the floor shake, warp with every step. What should have been nearly inaudible tapping was an earthquake in his ears. The voice was like a warning siren, shrieking over the hills and penetrating windows and walls to warn civilians of the imminent danger.

"Hey, Artie! How ya doing, buddy?"

Arthur looked up slowly, like a weight was tied to his neck. Alfred was wearing the same jacket as before, the same proud stance as before, and the same grin as before… even if it did seem suspiciously more careful. Arthur looked down again. "Afternoon, Alfred."

"Afternoon!"

Then there was a silence that not even Alfred could fill. Arthur's voice was shot, stolen, and he could not tell who had taken it. Alfred was still smiling; it seemed inappropriate. The pause lasted a moment but felt like a year. Alfred broke it, of course.

"Hey, I brought you a little something." Before Arthur could understand, Alfred brought his hand from behind his back and presented him with something. Arthur stared, blinked. No, how on earth could he have remembered… "You had that thing for unicorns, right?"

"Oh, Alfred, good lord!" A stuffed unicorn. Alfred had actually brought him a stuffed unicorn. Though there was no one around, Arthur felt a flush rise up the back of his neck as he snatched it away. "That… was years ago." Despite his words, Arthur looked down at the doll and gave it a small squeeze. Something almost like comfort, something familiar, washed over him.

Alfred laughed, loud and boundless as always. "Come on, Art, you act like it's been a trillion years or something!"

Was it all that much of an exaggeration, really? Arthur could barely remember high school, or his early twenties, or last spring – he could not remember anything beyond these white walls, white pills handed to him in white cups, or white hissing static in his head and in his words. Everything he had lived through felt like nothing more than a forgotten dream.

Lost in deep thought, Arthur forgot to say anything, and only remembered Alfred was in front of him when he spoke again.

"So, uh, nice set up you got here! TV and everything, huh? It's kind of like a hotel!" Arthur just looked at him, and Alfred delved directly into his next thought. "Got any friends here? Want to introduce me?"

Arthur wanted to smile at that, if only because of the sheer absurdity, but couldn't manage it. "No friends," he said low, as he didn't know who was listening. "Only…" He hesitated, looked down at his hands, and then trailed off completely as the walls spoke his name.

_Arthur. No._

Arthur froze. It was watching, it knew, and it was after him again. He had a target on his back and it all spun back on this stupid toy. Of course it would hate something that resembled… Something new spoke, frantic and firm.

_Get rid of it. Now. Unsafe._

"What was that?" When he was not met with an answer, Alfred waved a hand in front of Arthur's face. "Doing okay, man?"

Arthur flinched, looked away. The darkness was closing in again, it knew, it was coming… Arthur's hands burned in fear around the fabric. He should not have something like this out in the open. "Hold on, hold on…" Leaving only that, he rushed away.

It took only moments to reach his room, to figure a plan, to silence the warning voices whispering to him. Arthur shoved the unicorn between the bedframe and the wall. "There," he muttered, as he pushed those lifeless eyes out of his sight, out of _anyone's_ sight. He glared at the ceiling. "There, happy now?"

Silence.

Satisfied, Arthur stood, blinked away the static, and walked back to Alfred with an exasperated, forced expression.

Alfred did not seem to have moved. He was rooted there, his expression controlled, his raised eyebrow calculated. "Dude, is something going on?"

"Preposterous," scoffed Arthur. "I was only putting that silly thing away."

"…Oh." Alfred cleared his throat, blinked away the trepidation in his eyes, and grinned just as obnoxiously as he had before. "So, what do you want to do, buddy? We could watch TV, or… ooh! I have some clips from my games on my phone! Or…"

"Alfred."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I think I would just like to sit outside."

"Oh." Alfred sounded a bit defeated, but his smile snapped back into its rightful place just as quickly as it disappeared. "Yeah, that's cool."

Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and ran out to the courtyard the way Arthur would imagine he ran out to the field.

When he got outside, Arthur looked down at the stone-covered ground and flinched. It was too short a time since he'd fallen to his knees in this very spot. He blinked, shook his head lightly, and lifted his gaze to look at Alfred again. He was standing with his hands in his jacket pockets, smiling up at the sun as if he'd never seen it before.

"Long time since I've seen this place, huh?" Alfred laughed… Arthur had forgotten just how unmistakable that laugh was. He had forgotten a lot of things, it seemed. It was coming back, in some strange, fleeting way, like sparks off a fire. Arthur could sense the memories but not really hold onto them. It was an odd experience. Alfred said, "How has this week been treating ya?"

Arthur glanced down for a second more. He was hit with intrusive memory among the sparks – the paranoia, the voices, the bloody _clopping…_ "You know," he muttered, making his way to a bench. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Alfred sat down beside him. "Cool. I had practice all week. Got tackled a few times, ran a few dozen miles, made some hella amazing catches, you know… nothing out of the ordinary." There was that cheeky grin again. Arthur just looked at him.

"Always the humble one, aren't you, Alfred?"

"You bet!" A master of sarcasm, the boy was. "Anyway, I was meaning to ask, you're getting out of here soon, right?"

Arthur blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, you've been in here for what, a month or something?"

"Well… two, actually, but-"

Alfred did not even allow him to finish. It was as if he simply didn't want to hear it. "Yeah, see? That's probably enough time." His grin seemed a little disingenuous now. "Aren't you sick of this place?"

Arthur was actually speechless at the suggestion. As if he had a choice. As if he ever did. He would like to think he could just up and walk out of here whenever he so pleased, and part of him believed that. But _it_ was watching, always watching, even if _it_ was not supposed to exist. Arthur had far more questions than answers and none of them lead to leaving. He was in chains.

But, just like _it,_ they were chains no one else could see. "Maybe," Arthur said low. He cleared his throat. "You said you had something on your phone?"

"Oh, yeah, totally." His inquisitions seemingly forgotten, Alfred reached into his pocket and pulled out what was just about the largest phone Arthur had ever seen. It had an American flag case on it that Arthur was half sure to be made up of diamonds. "I scored the most epic touchdown the other week! You have to see!"

Well, at least he was distracted. It never did take much.

As expected, Arthur had no idea what was going on in any of the five videos Alfred showed him. He hadn't the slightest clue what a 'first down,' 'linebacker,' or even a 'fumble' was. The bright colors were irritating and the loud noises made him anxious. However, what he did understand was Alfred's enthusiasm. How he jabbed at the screen whenever his numbered jersey, thirteen, was visible. How he tried to explain the plays, even if Arthur was hopelessly lost. How he beamed and cheered as if all of it was new to him.

"See, dude?" said Alfred as he turned the phone off. Arthur blinked back into awareness. "Isn't that sweet?"

"I guess so," said Arthur. "You must be quite passionate about this whole thing."

"You bet!" Alfred shoved the ridiculous phone back into his pocket. "Everyone needs a reason to get out of bed in the morning, you know?"

Arthur crossed his legs, uncrossed, and then crossed them again. The wind in the trees spoke his name. He ignored it, just as he did the strange pang of pain in his chest. "Of course."

Alfred was still smiling. In spite of himself, Arthur could not help but watch him. He was not used to seeing this kind of passion anymore. The closest he got from people around here was mania, senseless babbling, or, on occasion, violent rage. Alfred radiated hope and joy – even here.

Though he would never admit it, Arthur had always admired that about him. That much, he remembered. That much was familiar, albiet vaguely.

Arthur wished he could tell him that. But something, deep down within him, insisted it would be a very bad idea. And Arthur listened. He always seemed to listen.

In fact, he was listening so intently to that internal voice that he scarcely heard his name being called. "Arthur?" It was Matthew, having appeared out of nowhere. He always seemed to do that. "Group starts in about ten minutes. Just letting you know."

And there came reality. "Fantastic," muttered Arthur.

"Hey, bro!" said Alfred loudly, waving at Matthew with large swooping motions. "Artie will be in in a second. Can you give us a minute?"

From the open door, Matthew shot them a knowing glance paired with a smile that could almost be called patronizing. "Sure, Al."

When Matthew was out of sight, Alfred gave a low whistle. "They sure are strict around here, huh?"

Arthur had to force back the very real urge to laugh. Alfred didn't know the half of it. These people basically watched him bathe. "Quite," he said anyway.

"Hey," Alfred shrugged, "It ain't forever."

Again, Arthur had to fight back a laugh… though this one was mirthless. But again, all he said was, "Of course."

Then Alfred stood up, and Arthur had no choice but to stand up with him. He wondered if any time had truly passed at all. What might have been half an hour felt like thirty seconds, or thirty years. He couldn't quite be sure. One thing however, he could be sure about – everything was quiet. The wind simply sounded like wind. No hooves struck the stone; no voices fell hot against his neck, no words popped in his thoughts like popcorn kernels. It was simply… quiet.

Perhaps Alfred's presence was just too loud to overwrite. It always had been, after all.

"You gonna be alright?" said Alfred, a bit too quietly considering Arthur's thoughts. He sauntered towards the entrance, much slower than what was strictly necessary, and even then Arthur lagged a bit behind. "You know I'll be back in a week."

"I'll be just fine, thank you." Arthur crossed his arms. "I've gotten along… just fine, lately, before you came back around." _For the last ten years._ But, if Arthur was being honest, he could not remember a moment of the past decade. Nothing beyond random moments of staring out a window or faces in the walls.

"Guess you have, haven't you?" Alfred almost laughed. Then that smile simply broke to pieces and fell, like a house held up by centimeter-thick pillars. "You know, Artie…"

"Arthur."

"Arthur," Alfred quickly corrected himself. "I missed you a lot. Over the years, I mean. I've been busy and everything, but… you never really forget your best friend."

At a loss for words, Arthur tried desperately to wrap his head around all of this. His memories were so fragmented, so unreliable. Half of what he remembered he could not be sure had actually happened. He was still trying to remember _what_ he remembered, if that made any sense at all. And what he hated even more, what was even more confusing and elusive, was that he was beginning to feel just as he did in high school. That he could even place that feeling, something that had existed before illness had taken over. Alfred struck something in him that was new and familiar at the same time. And he still didn't know what that meant or how to describe it. He ended up nodding, blankly staring at the trees.

"Did you miss me?"

A pause. The wordless wind blew through the trees again, and Arthur had no other place to look than Alfred. A few feet separated them. He wasn't sure what to do with the space. Then, finally, piecing together this confusion in slow motion, he said "Yes, Alfred, I did."

Alfred's eyes widened in shock – so much shock it probably should have been insulting. "Really?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes – his memories confused him, but he knew what they all boiled down to. "I'm not heartless," he said.

"Well, no, I didn't think that."

"And I never thought you did. Glad we cleared that up." Arthur suddenly went from being reluctant to see Alfred leave to desperately wishing he would. This conversation was getting too personal, the stares too intense. There was only so much of this he could take at once. This was, after all, the longest conversation he had had with anyone who wasn't a therapist in several years. He strode forward, just about brushing Alfred's shoulder in his jog towards the building. "Well, like Matthew said, I have things to do now. Goodbye, Alfred."

"Arthur, wait."

Arthur would have been long gone if it wasn't for Alfred's strong hand on his shoulder. A strange zing of panic shot through his skin, but Arthur still didn't pull away. "What is it?"

"I missed you," said Alfred again. "I missed you a whole lot."

Arthur stared at him. His blue eyes screamed sincerity, but he could not help but feel there was something behind them. Behind everything. "You said that already."

"But, do you understand?"

Arthur's patience snapped like a worn rubber band. "Alfred, I'm _sick,_ not incompetent!"

Silence. The words hung in the air long enough for Arthur to regret them, to feel them pierce into his skin like needles. Alfred still had not released his shoulder.

"I was never too good with words," said Alfred after some time. "But you know what I was saying before, about needing something to get you out of bed in the morning?"

This was all starting to get complicated. Arthur was beginning to lose Alfred's words, all of them piling in his head like an overflowing basin.

Alfred continued anyway. "It's not always the same thing." He ran his thumb in an absent circle on Arthur's shoulder. "Like, football isn't _always_ what keeps me going. Sometimes, it's… what I'm going to have for lunch, or the new Iron Man movie, or…" He trailed off and took a breath; visibly giving up on finishing that sentence, then lightly shook his head. "Artie…Arthur. Today it was you. And it isn't the first time."

Arthur tipped his head, almost observing, as if this was happening to someone else. Alfred was so over the top. He was just as he remembered him. Or at least, how Arthur had filled in the blanks. "Isn't this a bit dramatic?"

Alfred immediately shook his head. "No. I mean it."

Arthur shook his head, his mouth awkwardly hanging open. Meant _what?_ This was too much at once and Arthur was overwhelmed. "Alfred…"

"I mean it!" he repeated firmly, loudly, almost childishly so. Then, too quietly, "I'll get you out of here. I promise."

It managed to happen too quickly and too slowly at the same time. As Arthur was still processing, Alfred simply… _grabbed_ him. There was no warning, just action. Arthur did not even have time to react, much less process any of this back and forth. Then Alfred was suddenly kissing him and suddenly reality converged with fantasy, because Arthur was sure he had thought about this at one point or another, but suddenly it was _happening,_ and he didn't know what had prompted it, or what to do, or how to breathe.

How was he meant to feel about this? Maybe ten years ago, Arthur would have that answer. But now there was nothing but messy touches and confusion.

And then, voices.

Usually, Arthur could make out what was being said to him, find the threat, and destroy it – if not simply avoid it. And sometimes he couldn't do any of that. Sometimes every source of energy in the room met and fused and morphed into a singular force and attacked him, mercilessly, like a waterfall rather than rain. And today Alfred had pushed him under the current.

And the waves crashed again him, and Arthur was swept beneath it, all the way to the ground, and screamed even as the water filled his lungs. He couldn't make out the words being said but he knew none of them were good. He couldn't make out his own heartbeat, or Alfred's voice, or Alfred's hands on his shoulders, or Alfred's presence at all. Arthur needed an escape and all the exits were boarded.

Arthur choked on all that was engulfing him, surviving on stolen breaths that made his vision go spotty. He couldn't tell real from fake or thought from action or touch from injury. The bottom of this rabbit hole was cold, flooded, and inescapable.

But no man can fall forever. Arthur eventually had to find a bottom, as he always did, and no matter how slow or difficult or confusing it was, he had to claw his way back to the surface, as he always did. And so he did. The black went away; the sun reentered. The screams quieted down. Arthur came to realize he was sitting on the cold, hard, dirty ground with his hands clapped uselessly over his ears. There was only one voice left, a real one. But for once Arthur wished it was fake.

"Oh, God. Arthur, Arthur, come on and look at me buddy, oh god…"

And slowly, Arthur looked up. "I'm…" He swallowed. "I'm fine."

Alfred looked back, but he did not answer. And then, in one surreal, miserable moment Arthur was sorely positive he would never forget, panic turned to solemnity. Alfred's innocence was nowhere to be found. Now, on the same face that looked like one of naïve teenager just an hour ago, was one of someone who had finally grown up enough to understand.

And Alfred was never meant to grow up.


End file.
